I Know A Mom

I know a mom who does it all.
There are two little girls that she gave life to, and they in turn, are her life.
One is seven and the other, one.
Precious - with eyes that shine.
When the school door opens, the first one runs to her.
When I hold the little one, her arms reach for her.

She is beautiful - this momma.
Silky blond hair with the warmest eyes.
She knows how to laugh, and does it often.
She lives her life well.
Compassion and devotion for the things she loves lead the way.
Her guiding words to those little ones are the ones that matter....
"Be kind.   Tell the truth.   Make room.  Try hard."   

Nearly every morning she is up before anyone else.
A job waits for her - she has to go.
But before she goes she
      packs a lunch kit
      packs some clothes
      takes a deep breath
      wakes them both
      blankets in hand
      carries them to her car
      while they doze
      and drives them to her own momma's house.
She has to go.
But first a kiss.

She smiles all day.
That's the kind of job it is.
It doesn't matter if she was up all night cleaning up puke.
She smiles.
She serves.
She makes it perfect for everyone else.
She does it well - she's got a beautiful smile.
You'd never know she was up before the sun with two in tow.
You'd never know she can't remember the last time all she had to think of was herself.
Because she still smiles while she orchestrates perfection around her.

At the end of the work day she flies.
She's got the drive from downtown to get the little one.
The little one is waiting.
Arms open wide - she loves her momma.
Now off to school to get the bigger one.
Soon she's bombarded with tales of good and bad from the world of grade one.
The stories don't stop.
The words keep coming.
She listens to them all because she loves her.
But sometimes it's just too much.
Six year olds and one year olds don't know you need a break.
They only know they need you.
And want you.
Now.

Home again.
Unpack the day.
Cook.  Feed.  Clean.  Bath.  Books.  Bed.
Glorious bed.
And glorious quiet.
Not long enough.
Lights out.
Alarm set.
Fall into bed.
All alone.
Close eyes.
And get ready to do it all again.
And again.

She loves someone.
The little one, and the bigger one - he's their daddy.
He loves them too.
But he's not at home.
He can't be.
A brain that was left - not as it was - by nature and the doctor's hand.
Many days - in between the cooking and cleaning and million other things she does -
They go to see him.
He's their daddy.
Always will be theirs.
But not theirs at home.

She does it all.
While still dreaming and planning and hoping.
She wants it all for those girls she loves.
They're what she always wanted.
Just not quite like this.

I know this mom.
Strength goes before her and courage follows behind.
Looking ahead.
Two in tow.
Full of life.