Best 779 quotes in «motherhood quotes» category

Prioritise self-care & incorporate a MINIMUM of 60 mins 'ME TIME' into your daily routine. YES THERE ARE enough hours in the day. NO EXCUSES.

(Quoting Viola Davis) I will not be a mystery to my daughter. She will know me and I will share my stories with her—the stories of failure, shame, and accomplishment. She will know she’s not alone in that wilderness.

Quoting Viola Davis (who is sharing rules she lives by): '4. I will not be a mystery to my daughter. She will know me and I will share my stories with her—the stories of failure, shame, and accomplishment. She will know she’s not alone in that wilderness.

Raising human offspring is an endeavor nothing less than a continued labor of patience, hard work, organization and ongoing adaptation. All of which is unlike that expected of any other living creatures on the planet (or this sector of the universe, as far as we can tell). It demands the most complex responsibility and long-term commitment of any parenting life-form. Indeed, it is at times, at least for quality parents, an overwhelming, exhausting, even daunting task. Albeit, one that in the end, (and, most of the time even in the middle of it), is more than worth it.

Raise your kids and grand-kids not as strong men or strong women, not as good Christians, Jews, or Muslims, not as responsible Americans, Europeans or anything else, not as efficient professionals or smart academics, but as strong, good, responsible, efficient and wise human beings.

Raising our sons is among the most important social imprints we will leave on the world, for they will become the partners, husbands, fathers, friends, lovers, creators, and leaders of tomorrow.

Real women have children, wise women choose for themselves.

Reflection can be painful, but reflection can also be productive.

Regardless the destination, all roads lead home.

Remember that every child and every parent has a completely unique and special rela- tionship. That child knows his dad and loves his dad. Our job is to watch that communication, to nurture it, and to support the parents in their heart-to-heart relationships with their children

Repudiating the vulnerability I felt had wrecked the lives of women around me, I modelled myself on my controlled father. I wanted his freedom and his focus. To him, a family was an aquarium: controlled, contained. To the women I knew, a family was everything.

Respect your children. Treat them like the person you admire most on earth. I really mean that as a way of life. If you treat your children with respect then they will learn to respect themselves. I can't think of a better thing to let your kid out into the world with than self-respect. I want my children to feel empowered. That's the most important thing. I think as a mom it's important to teach your children that they're extraordinary, powerful beings. Your job is to keep the path clear so there is nothing they can trip on.

Revolted and offended, this child was fighting her mother in her head and did not even blink.

Rolling a cigarette is like telling your mum you exist.

Sadie heard her inside cleaning up the kitchen and wondered what dreams Betty's mother had for herself, if all mothers had them, bottled up beneath their mother exteriors.

Sarah had no intention of having nannies or anything like that. Her mother had sighed a bit, and said vaguely: ‘I always find women who look after their own children get rather untidy and disorganised. Husbands hate it too'. Sometimes Sarah wanted to slap her face.

Sergey described the mighty furnaces and plants rising up from the steppes. “How far we’ve come. How much work there is still to do!” She would have to see it herself one day, with her own eyes. Florence reread the last line with a turbulent flip in her stomach. Was this an invitation?

Say something to it, he said. As I looked at the baby, I felt nothing taking shape in mind or mouth. I had no idea what the sort of things were that somebody would say to a baby. I had no idea why anyone would say anything to a baby. I held it carefully, as one would a sack of apples. And then, with him watching me, nodding encouragingly, I began to say to it, for lack of anything else to say, all the words I had ever known, in order.

scary mommy confession #80920 " I invited you into my home as a guest. And you brought my two year old permanent markers and play-doh. next time I visit you, I'm bringing your teenage daughter condoms and crack.

She could not, she had thought as she bent to kiss the baby's flushed cheek, have loved this child more if it had come from her own flesh.

She could taste her children on her tongue, the colors they wore. Jacqueline was yellow. Gunnar was blue. Gabriela had always been red. All their weight. Their history inside of her. And she remembered her mother's synesthesia and was startled as guilt crept up her throat.

Shannon thought about all the childhood diseases that had been eradicated, but what good did it do? A child's life could still be wiped away in an instant. Why did modern people presume that they would die only in old age? Previous generations hadn't made such a presumption. She also thought about the opportunities of motherhood that were now lost to her. She wished she had said and done more to confirm Marzieh's positive sense of self. She wondered if Marzieh understood how much her mother loved her. On the fifth day things began to improve. Hope was a tiny red fish wiggling through a wide, black, slow-moving river under a dark sky. Shannon leaned over the bow of an old, splintered rowboat adrift in the water in order to greet it.

She brushed the tears from their faces and sang them a melancholy lullaby. Her obvious devotion to her daughters pulled at my heart strings, making my chest ache with longing for my own mother.

She felt a lump form in her throat, and she swallowed hard. She wouldn't have this-the swollen ankles and pink cheeks and the feel of that glorious, curving belly under the palm of her hand-but she could still be a mother. That was the important thing.

She grinned, a silty grin. 'You were my two dividends, yes? Don't you forget that.' Then she sighed, took a deep breath, and said, 'But what an investment. My life.

SHE holds the hand to help you in your First Step, She is your First Teacher, SHE holds your hand when You Fall Down, SHE is the one who guides you in Life, SHE hides you from all Trouble, SHE is sometime Mentor, SHE even nurses you when you Fall ill, SHE gives you the confidence, SHE never give False Appreciation, SHE is the one who will scold you the most on your mistake, She is the one who even Fight for you when you are right, SHE is the one who believes in you when others do not, SHE is the one who Loves you even if You don't love her, SHE is the one who gave you LIFE, Do You know Who is 'SHE'?? 'SHE' is Mother your own MOM...

She knew those horrid words were addressed to her. They felt like the icy tip of an arrow meant to conjure up destruction, coming from the most venomous abyss imaginable, rammed right into her chest with the utmost authority, entitlement, and pleasure.

She is created from honor and glory, knitted with love and grace. She is made of joy, speaks from peace and guides through wisdom. She is a bearer of hope and nurturer of future; God's humble gift, His craftsmanship, created for a marvelous work. She is called Mother.

-she loved Lily Cate like her own, and for this night, this moment, she would be her mother, even though there was no guarantee of tomorrow.

She knew better than to waste that time. There isn't always someone who wants you singing to him or nibbling his ear or brushing his cheek with a dandelion blossom. Somebody who knows when you're being silly, and laughs and laughs. So long as he was little enough to carry, she could hardly bring herself to put him down.

She rolled onto her side, crumpling more MRI print outs, and stared at the picture on her bedside table. It was a photo of Jady at five years old. She was sleeping peacefully, hair matted on her forehead and clutching her pink blanket, the tag up to her nose. Ella remembered those precious minutes, before she’d sneak out for the early train, when she’d spoon her warm little girl, smell her hair and, if she closed her eyes, feel as if they were one, safe from the world. It had been on a morning like that when she’d been convinced that she stopped Jady’s hiccups by sending comforting thoughts.

She remembers blood. A fine mist which goes deep into her lungs, over her skin and through the air. She remembers a desert at dusk. The sky indigo blue and the fire bright, so bright that she can see everything. Near the fire, in the night, all she knows is chaos wrapped in crimson. All is death and nightmare with a single solitary dancer who smiles cruelly as he moves. He is power and darkness. He is man and beast, silver coin eyes and that face, those claws and the agony of loss. Time stretches wide; seconds like vast eons swallow up her world. Vince is dead, his mother, his brother and her small son ripped apart and gushing as he/it moves. She is screaming, a howl of agony beyond words, primal and wordless. Still he moves, faster than air, faster than she could ever be. Blood drips from her face as she grunts, running with her lungs on fire and her last remaining hope wrapped in her arms.

She's wonderful and soulful. She has a sly sense of humor. I've seen her deliver a funnier joke with a single silent raise of her eyebrow than many stand up comedians. She guards a very sensitive heart. Any human suffering brings her to tears. She's smart. Talk down to her and find yourself mentally slapped. She's an excellent judge of character, and seems to know an original spirit from a forgery every time. Cross boundaries with her...in any improper way and suffer the wrath of a lion. ... She's principled and firm. Rude behavior doesn't materialize in her presence. She's a grown-up who fully sees and knows children as citizens, and people, and souls. And because she respects children, all children seem to respect her.

She supposed this was the real definition of a mother – a woman who willingly allows her heart to break over and over again for her children.

She’s my hero. Everything good and decent that I am is because of my mother.

She was arriving at a revelation that the secret to living was simply forgetting

She was extremely smart, and now she was just a mother

She was now more than ever confronted with the outward cries of help that leaped at her like an overflowing bathtub where the water had grown cold and rancid. The catastrophe had caught up with her. It had always been there, a re-emerging siren in scarlet tones, a temptation of the abysmal artillery of the brain, a carousel waltzing with crazed horses, the heel-clicking and tap-dancing back chambers where arthropods lay on their carapaces.

She was so wicked. Such a classic case of resentment and ambivalence bumping and brushing up against all that maternal instinct. The love and hate in her was as vast as space- all meteors, no atmosphere.

she was wishing that whatever stage of her life she was in now could be got through quickly, for it was seeing to her interminable. If life had to be looked at in terms of high moments. or peaks, then nothing had "happened" to her for a long time; snd she could look forward to nothing much but a dwindling away from full household activity into getting old

Someday you'll understand. You'll have your own children, and they'll mean more to you than the world. A wife has to defend her children, even against her own husband. Not that I expect you to be easily cowed. But sometimes, despite all you say and do, your husband won't be dissuaded from folly. When that happens, as a mother you have to close ranks. Your first responsibility is to your children. To salvage what you can. Even if they hate you for it.

Shonda, how do you do it all? The answer is this: I don't. Whenever you see me somewhere succeeding in one area of my life, that almost certainly means I am failing in another area of my life.... That is the trade-off. That is the Faustian bargain one makes with the devil that comes with being a powerful working woman who is also a powerful mother. You never feel 100 percent okay, you never get your sea legs, you are always a little nauseous.

Siempre he estado convencido de que el primer mordisco de la enfermedad de mi madre se llevó lo que yo más quería: el beso de buenas noches. Yo pensé que, como el rezo juntos antes de dormir, era otra pérdida de la edad. Una más de las catástrofes de hacerte mayor. Como que dejara de ordenarme la ropa, de removerme el Cola-Cao o de preguntarme al volver del colegio si tenía muchos deberes. Un día las madres dejan de darte el beso de buenas noches, se fue el beso de buenas noches y vinieron la hipoteca del piso y las letras del coche, en mi caso una noche no llegó el beso y aguardé silencioso. La oscuridad se transformó en hostil, lúgubre, inhóspita. Puede que otras noches yo mismo la llamara, pero llega la noche en que no te sientes autorizado para gritarle mamá, ¿vienes? Y no viene nadie. Puede que cuando despiertas a la mañana siguiente seas más adulto, más independiente, pero esa noche tan sólo eres más infeliz. La segunda noche consecutiva sin beso, lloré en silencio. Sentí algo amputado adentro. Si te arrancan un brazo, dudo que duela como perder ese beso.

Since God lives in the heart, I was not to seek some Being way up in the sky . . . my journey to God was not outward, but inward! The only way to get closer to God was to become ordered enough inside to enable me to experience him within. When our emotions are running loose, and our minds are confused . . . and our imagination is working overtime, there's so much internal noise that we can't hear the still voice of God. So many times over my years as a mother I had felt tired, overwhelmed, and worn out So often I felt I couldn't get any personal space to think, what with the continual onslaught of "Mummy! Mummy!" coming from the children, or the work that I hadn't finished staring me in the face. I needed quiet time alone.

Some parents sometimes use junk food as a babysitter.

Something must have happened, your mother speculated. In her mind a woman with no child could only be explained by vast untrammeled calamity. Maybe she just doesn't like children. Nobody likes children, Yunior, your mother assured you. That doesn't mean you don't have them.

Some say that pregnancy make a woman an instant mother. To that I say, I became an instant woman the day I became a mother.

Some problems we share as women, some we do not. You hear your children will grow up to join the patriarchy and testify against you, we fear our children will be dragged from a car and shot down in the street, and you will turn your backs upon the reasons they are dying.

Sometimes, especially as women, we don't feel comfortable giving ourselves that credit. We're selfless in the best ways. But that can be dangerous too. You need to feel comfortable with affirming the greatness of who you are as a partner, a wife, a mother, a person. You are great. What you have to offer is great. When you give your time, your love, your respect, you deserve respect in return. You deserve comfort, you deserve honesty, and you deserve to feel safe. That's what relationships are supposed to be about - a place where you feel good, right?

Sometimes being a MOM is like a good ol’ country song! You lose your sleep, you lose your hair, you lose your patience, you lose your energy, you lose your memory AND you lose your SANITY! But you DO IT all for LOVE!