Mother's Day, In Three Parts

Since I probably won't post tomorrow or over the weekend, Happy Mother's Day to all of you who have earned the title. I wanted to share something but couldn't choose which one to post. So here's all three :)

I. Firstly, I have found being a mother takes lots of prayer, justwanted to share these prayers:

O Holy Theotokos, Mother of our God, pray for us mothers. That God would grant us peace, patience, and a desire to serve and glorify Him, and to exemplify His love to our children and those around us.

May the Morning Star, which is thy Son, shine with unfading light in the hearts of our children, that they may cry to God, Alleluia.

II. Of course, an ode to my own mother!

This photo of me and my mom is one of my favorite, it's nice to see my mom at around my age and doing what I'm doing now...she looks so happy. Thank you, Momma, for your love, hard work and encouragemnet, I love you.





III. A fun but poignant "story" my sweet grandpa sent me.

A few months ago, when I was picking up the children at school, another mother I knew well, rushed up to me. Emily was fuming with indignation. "Do you know what you and I are?" she demanded.

Before I could answer -- and I didn't really have one handy -- she blurted out the reason for her question. It seemed she had just returned from renewing her driver's license at the Department of Motor Vehicles. Asked by the woman recorder to state her "occupation," Emily had hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.

"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "Do you have a job, or are you just a ......?"

"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."

"We don't list "mother" as an occupation..."housewife" covers it," said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Milpitas City Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high-sounding title, like "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."

"And what is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm....a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."

The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pompous pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research (what mother doesn't) in the laboratory and in the field (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters (the whole darned family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities (any mother care to disagree)? And I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are in satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants -- ages 13, 7, and 3. And upstairs, I could hear our new experimental model (six months) in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt triumphant. I had scored a beat on bureaucracy. And I had gone down on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another......"