I've kissed a prince, Mom. I hope it doesn't turn into a frog.
I've kissed a prince, Mom. I hope it doesn't turn into a frog.
There were letters for her at the bureau-one from her brother, full of athletics and biology; one from her mother, delightful as only mother's letters could be. She had read in it of the crocuses which had been bought for yellow and were coming up puce, of the new parlour-maid, who had watered the ferns with essence of lemonade...
She was parting from these Wilcoxes for the second time. Paul and his mother, ripple and great wave, had flowed into her life and ebbed out of it forever. The ripple had left no traces behind: the wave had strewn at her feet fragments torn from the unknown. A curious seeker, she stood for a while at the verge of the sea that tells so little, but tells a little, and watched the outgoing of this last tremendous tide.
Gripping my arm, Mother held it in the orange-blue flame. My skin seemed to explode from the heat.
The wind sounded of Mother Earth's forsaken and abandoned cries.
Picture the moment when your mom and dad first saw you as something other than a pretty, tiny version of them. You as them, but improved. Better educated. Innocent. Then picture when you stopped being their dream.
When the lambs is lost in the mountain, he said. They is cry. Sometime come the mother. Sometime the wolf.
Sorry, are you telling me that your demon-slaying buddies need to be driven to their next assignment with the forces of darkness by my mom?
She had thought she was going to save her mother, and now there was going to be nothing for her to do but sit by her mother's bedside, hold her limp hand, and home someone else, somewhere else, would be able to do what she couldn't.
Not a tie hold me to human society at this moment - not a charm or hope calls me where my fellow-creatures are - none that saw me would have a kind thought or a good wish for me. I have no relative but the universal mother, Nature.
We women have something of the mother in us that makes us rise above smaller matters when the mother-spirit is invoked; I felt this big, sorrowing man's head resting on me, as though it were that of the baby that some day may lie on my bosom, and I stroked his hair as though he were my own child. I never thought at the time how strange it all was.
Oh, I can see it happening, age after age, and growing worse the more you reveal your beauty: the son turning his back on the mother and the bride on her groom, stolen away by this everlasting calling, calling, calling of the gods. Taken where we can't follow. It would be far better for us if you were foul and ravening. We'd rather you drank their blood than stole their hearts. We'd rather they were ours and dead than yours and made immortal.
Mom. I have something to tell you. I'm undead. Now, I know you may have some preconceived notions about the undead. I know you may not be comfortable with the idea of me being undead. But I'm here to tell you that undead are just like you and me … well, okay. Possibly more like me than you.
Also, I'm sleeping with your mom. Just thought you should know.
Beautiful. He'd called her beautiful. Nobody had ever called her that before, except her mother, which didn't count. Mothers were required to think you were beautiful.
Clary, you're an artist, like your mother. That means you see the world in ways that other people don't. It's your gift, to see the beauty and the horror in ordinary things. It doesn't make you crazy - just different. There's nothing wrong with being different.
He wondered whether he really liked his mother. But she was his mother and this fact was recognized by everybody as meaning automatically that he loved her, and so he took for granted that whatever he felt for her was love. He did not know whether there was any reason why he should respect her judgment. She was his mother; this was supposed to take the place of reasons.
Remember how we use to pray to get invited to birthday parties? And they only asked us because we were so grateful we'd do anything, stay late and help the mothers wash the cake pans. I'm still that girl, flattered to death if somebody wants me around.
Mother, you can still hold hold on but forgive, forgive and give for long as long as we both shall live, I forgive you, Mother.
You see mother, you had no life of your own. They have no idea. One has only a life of one's own.
He's got the whole bad-boy-in-need-of-redemption thing going on, but the catch is, most bad boys don't want redemption. They like being bad. They like the power they get from striking fear and panic into the hearts of mothers everywhere
But don't you see, all human decisions are made like this. Do you think the mother knows what will happen to the child in her womb? Dear God, we are lost, I tell you. What does it matter if you give it to me and it's wrong! There is no wrong! There is only desperation, and I would have it! I want to live forever with you.
I sit quietly and think about my mom. It's funny how memory erodes, If all I had to work from were my childhood memories, my knowledge of my mother would be faded and soft, with a few sharp memories standing out.
Mom had just gotten back from Sydney, and she had brought me an immense, surpassingly blue butterfly, Papilio ulysses, mounted in a frame filled with cotton. I would hold it close to my face, so close I couldn't see anything but that blue. It would fill me with a feeling, a feeling I later tried to duplicate with alcohol and finally found again with Clare, a feeling of unity, oblivion, mindlessness in the best sense of the word.
Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.
I couldn't help but think, This car is taking me to a mental hospital and my mother is treating it like open-mic night at a Greenwich Village caf?.
My mother is from Cairo, Georgia. This makes everything she says sound like it went through a curling iron.
Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday; I can't be sure.
For unlike my mother, I did not believe I could be anything I wanted to be. I could only be me.
What use for? asks my mother, jiggling the table with her hand. You put something else on top, everything fall down.
Why did I not know that birth is the pinnacle where women discover the courage to become mothers?
Then there are some minor points that strike me as suggestive - for instance, the position of Mrs. Hubbard's sponge bag, the name of Mrs. Armstrong's mother, the detective methods of Mr. Hardman, the suggestion of Mr. MacQueen that Ratchett himself destroyed the charred note we found, Princess Dragomiroff's Christian name, and a grease spot on a Hungarian passport.
I'm not a politician and not a policeman, just a mother who wants her baby daughter to grow up in a world where fear doesn't rule.
Cute little guy, you know. She seemed like a really good mother.
I saw a scene in a bus station once. It was a little family knot Grandmother was going home. The youngster burst into tears at losing Grandmother and went to her mother, who gave her a cuff on the cheek and said Now brace up. She went to her father, and he comforted her.
When you throw dung on our Virgin Mother, it is hate speech, ... It is the same thing as drawing a swastika on a synagogue.
Nobody loves me but my mother, And she could be jivin' too.
Being a mother adds another emotional dimension, a feel for children that I didn't have before I had one. They were a pain before.
All mothers are tired right after having a baby - it helps them get the rest that they needs to recover and heal from the physical and mental stressors of childbirth. But for most women, fatigue steadily fades within the first two weeks of giving birth.
For a mother who has been out of the workforce raising her children an excellent first place to stop is a staffing firm who will help her do a skills inventory checklist. She may have skills that even she can't identify that are in demand or she may need help picking up the skills she lacks.
I always loved my mother, felt loved, but she was judgmental. Her father in Ireland didn't approve of women generally, and she took on his values. She believed her own mother was foolish.
Even now, where you have single fathers raising their children too, not just single mothers.
We have tried you citizens; we are trying you now, and you have a couple of dollars for the sorrowing mothers, brothers and sisters by way of a charity gift.
We are moms full of intention. There is nothing more powerful on this planet than a mother full of intention,
In producers, loafing is productive and no creator, of whatever magnitude, has ever been able to skip that stage, any more than a mother can skip gestation.
In the end I'm mother, so they take the bitter with the sweet. They listen to the music and they go on tour sometimes, It feels OK most of the time.
This clearly is an experienced mother.
My mom is this liberal, feminist, Mormon powerhouse. I just love her to death.
Then my mother was taken ill and died and my father took me to St. Mary's.
Only mothers can think of the future - because they give birth to it in their children.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories