A Parent's Love

Parents are a wondrous things. I only realize that now of course. After being a parent myself for only 13 years, I wonder daily how my mother did it and still maintained her sanity. If they were to write about us in a fantasy novel without calling us parents, we would be these mythical, loving and fiercely protective creatures, with mothers leading the squad. 

I know that I cannot be the only one that wonders how I make it through a week without screaming like a mad woman at the top of my lungs. Wait a minute. I don't make it through a week. At some point, I actually feel like a mad woman and if anyone were to take a peek into my home at the right moment, they would probably agree. And yet, we fight for them. We love them. We watch them. We worry about them. We scold them. We correct them. We engage them. We laugh with them. We indulge them. We protect them. We do this whether they are thankful or not. We do this with or without their knowledge and, let us face it, most of the time they are oblivious. Oblivious to the inner emotions and sometimes turmoil that we go through trying to raise decent human beings. They are oblivious to this love, this crazy, stupid love that keeps us on edge. They will remain oblivious until they have children of their own, and wonder the same thing I wonder about my mother, "How did she do this?"

Everyday is mother's day. Everyday is father's day. Everyday is love day.

Her love
as gentle as water
yet the true power and strength are


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