I am, for the most part, who I am because my good mother was who she was.
Richelle E. GoodrichTags: learning teaching motherhood mother example mom richelle richelle-goodrich mother-s-day
What is more powerful than the love of a mother? Perhaps only God's hand in answering her earnest pleadings on your behalf.
Richelle E. GoodrichTags: love god motherhood mother prayers mom richelle raising-children richelle-goodrich mother-s-day
I have a word to say to my sisters. When I reflect upon the duties and responsibilities devolving upon our mothers and sisters, and the influence they wield, I look upon them as the mainspring and soul of our being here. It is true that man is first. Father Adam was placed here as king of the earth, to bring it into subjection. But when Mother Eve came she had a splendid influence over him. A great many have thought it was not very good; I think it was excellent" (Discourses of Brigham Young, p. 199).).
Brigham YoungTags: motherhood mother adam-and-eve
I would consider all women as my mother but not all girls as my sisters.
M.F. MoonzajerHer mother was by turns tender and pathetic and terrifying, broken in a way that no one, in that time or place, had any idea how to fix.
Karen AbbottTags: mother
Mother was,' June thought, 'a beautiful little ornament that was damaged.' Her broken edges cut her daughters in ways both emotional and physical, and only sharpened with age.
Karen AbbottYour mother holds you skin on skin and when you enter this world, feeds you with her own body; skin on skin. Your father runs his fingers over your tear stained cheek, presses his lips to your forehead; skin on skin. You make love, skin on skin with a man you love, a beautiful man. And then, if you’re lucky your own baby will enter this world and you’ll hold her skin on skin, feed her with your body skin on skin. It’s a magical thing.
Madeline SheehanFinal Disposition
Others divided closets full of mother's things.
From the earth, I took her poppies.
I wanted those fandango folds
of red and black chiffon she doted on,
loving the wild and Moorish music of them,
coating her tongue with the thin skin
of their crimson petals.
Snapping her fingers, flamenco dancer,
she'd mock the clack of castanets
in answer to their gypsy cadence.
She would crouch toward the flounce of flowers,
twirl, stamp her foot, then kick it out
as if to lift the ruffles, scarlet
along the hemline of her yard.
And so, I dug up, soil and all,
the thistle-toothed and gray-green clumps
of leaves, the testicle seedpods and hairy stems
both out of season, to transplant them in my less-exotic garden. There, they bloom
her blood's abandon, year after year,
roots holding, their poppy heads nodding
a carefree, opium-ecstatic, possibly forever sleep.
Tags: poetry death flowers mother
A mother's love is instinctual, unconditional, and forever.
Revathi SankaranTags: motherhood mother unconditional-love
Gone are the days when girls used to cook like their mothers and boys used to dress like their fathers.
Now girls drink like their fathers and boys dress like their mothers.
Tags: boys gender girls funny mother alcohol clothing clothes father dress drink femininity cook humourous masculinity
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