I’ve pondered on this subject for about a week now, and I’m not sure I’m enough of a romantic to do it justice.  In fact, I’m sure I’m not.

And when I use the word romantic, I’m referring to one of its synonyms that describe it as artistic.

I suppose it’s easy enough for the men who read this blog from time to time to invest in something on Valentine’s day.  Because, the repercussions of not investing are dangerous, and the repercussions of investing are decidedly generous.

But it seems a bit more difficult, for some anyway, to invest in something for Mother’s Day. 

Mother’s day is six days away, now, by my count. 

I haven’t invested yet, but I plan to.

It’s hard to describe the most important role of the human race. 

I see Mama’s every day; I see what they contribute to society, and I stand back in awe.

I saw Mama, years ago now, in my good wife when she measured out the chocolate chips according to the recipe.  And she always grabbed a few more in her hand after she poured the right amount in, and sprinkled them over the top.

I saw her, eyes terrified, when her son had a gashed-up chin and a tooth knocked completely out, in the doctor’s office.

I saw Mama when her little girl came around the corner with her mouth crammed full of dog food (once again) and discipline had to be meted out.

I saw her, partly sick herself, whenever any of her children were sick.  Sure, the rest of life carried on, but for all intents and purposes, it had drawn up in a tight circle with just her and her sick child in the center.

I saw Mama hold her tongue when her grown boys came in and tracked mud right down on her clean floor, and look at them through eyes that saw them as when they were still young and innocent.

I see her pick up the pieces, when the grown sons and their dad aren’t getting along so well, and when all is said and done, peace is restored.

I see Mama today, when my niece’s little boy is hollering and crying, and none of the rest of us can shush him, but she can.

I see her in the Mama dog that just had pups here at our place and one was born dead.  Although weary from the birthing, she got up from where she was and made her way to the little one lying cold and still, pick it up gently in her mouth, and laid it among the other live ones.

I heard her in the Mama cow that bellowed at me when I got a little too close to her little black blurb; it didn’t take long for me to scramble out of the way.

I see Mama shining out happiness from the eyes of her little girl and boy when they come to my house, and even though I’m not really their Uncle, they call me that, because she has taught them to. 

I see Mama in my clean, neatly folded socks, and the dishes of food that are placed by my plate first.

Really, I see Mama everywhere, and I’m not very surprised, because she is that important and necessary to life.

To every Mama—

Happy Mother’s Day.