Parenting Poems and Stories

- some are pagan-related and some are not. All are worthy of your time! Most of these are serious and touching, but I do have some funny ones too.

NOTE: Used with permission, see bottom of page
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Goddess? Are You Real?

The little child whispered, "Goddess, speak to me."
And a mockingbird sang.
But the child did not hear.
So the child yelled, "Goddess, speak to me!"
And the thunder rolled across the sky.
But the child did not listen.
The child looked around and said, "Goddess let me see you."
And a star shone brightly.
But the child did not notice.
And the child shouted, "Goddess show me a miracle!"
And a life was born.
But the child did not know
So the child cried out in despair, "Touch me Goddess,
and let me know you are here!"
Whereupon the Goddess reached down and touched the
child.
But the child brushed the butterfly away and walked
away unknowingly.

Moral:
Take time to listen. Often times, the things we seek are right underneath our noses. Don't miss out on your blessings because it isn't packaged the way that you expect.

TO ALL MOTHERS

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 County Clerk's office. 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 Town 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. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model (6 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 on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."

Motherhood...what a glorious career. Especially when there's a title on the door. Whether a stay at home Mom or a career Mom, we should all carry this title.

FOR ALL US MOMS OUT THERE!!!!

This is for all the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, "It's OK honey, Mommy's here."

Who walk around the house all night with their babies when they keep crying and won't stop.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes.  And all the mothers who DON'T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for all the mothers who froze their buns off on metal bleachers at football or soccer games Friday night instead of watching from cars, so that when their kids asked, "Did you see me?" She could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet like a tired 2-year old who wants ice cream before dinner.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the mothers who wanted to but just couldn't.

For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice a night for a year. And then read it again.  "Just one more time."

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school.  And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for all mothers whose heads turn automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a crowd, even though they know their own off spring are at home.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up.  Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them. 

For all the mothers who bite their lips sometimes until they bleed - when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

What makes a good Mother anyway?
Is it patience?
Compassion?
Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?
Or is it heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or daughter disappear down the street,  walking to school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The need to flee from wherever you are and hug your child when you hear news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying? 

For all the mothers of the victims of all these school shootings,and the mothers of those who did the shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for mothers who put pinwheels and teddybears on their children's graves

This is for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep deprivation.

And mature mothers learning to let go. 

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.
Single mothers and married mothers.
Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. So hang in there.

Pagan Baby Song

Hush little baby don't you squall
Momma's gonna buy you a crystal ball
And if you still can't see beyond
Momma's gonna buy you a magic wand
And if that wand don't change your fate
Momma's gonna teach you to levitate
And if the astral makes you sick,
Momma's gonna buy you an incense stick
And if that patchouli smells rank
Momma's gonna buy you a sensory deprivation tank
And if that tank don't float your bones
Momma's gonna buy you some some precious stones
And if those gems don't ease your heart
Momma's gonna buy you a natal chart
And if your planets go berserk
Momma's gonna buy you some bodywork
And if your aura still needs kneading
Momma's gonna buy you a past life reading
And if your destiny stays hid
Momma's gonna buy you a pyramid
And if your chakras still feel stressed
Momma's gonna take you on a vision quest
And if power animals don't come to charm ya
Sorry, kid, it's just your karma.

author unknown

Gaia picture used with permission by Mythic Images

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