<>_<>u.r p .i c. r <>_<>
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
I may not win a trophy for the "Mother of the Year,"
I'll likely not rush out on stage and smile as people cheer,
My name will not be three feet tall on Broadway's Grand Marquis
With brilliant neon lights that flash for all the world to see.
No president will phone my house and call me by my name;
I won't be listed in "Who's Who" for newly-won acclaim.
No one will stand in line to have me autograph a book,
No tour guides will drive past my house so folks can gawk and look.
But there is something that I hope above all else on earth,
I've felt this way, I'm sure, right from the moment of my birth.
When my time comes to slip away and leave this world for good,
I hope I hear God say, "She did the best she could."
I'll likely not rush out on stage and smile as people cheer,
My name will not be three feet tall on Broadway's Grand Marquis
With brilliant neon lights that flash for all the world to see.
No president will phone my house and call me by my name;
I won't be listed in "Who's Who" for newly-won acclaim.
No one will stand in line to have me autograph a book,
No tour guides will drive past my house so folks can gawk and look.
But there is something that I hope above all else on earth,
I've felt this way, I'm sure, right from the moment of my birth.
When my time comes to slip away and leave this world for good,
I hope I hear God say, "She did the best she could."
Motherhood...what a glorious career.
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 don't 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! I had gone on the official
records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to
mankind than "just another mother."
Motherhood...what a glorious career.
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 don't 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! I had gone on the official
records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to
mankind than "just another mother."
Motherhood...what a glorious career.
author unknown
vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv
From: Rosy Marry <marrygo95@yahoo.com>
To: "Rukhsana@yahoogroups.com" <Rukhsana@yahoogroups.com>
Sent: Monday, 14 May 2012 11:35 AM
Subject: «*» RUKHSANA«*» Re: «*» RUKHSANA«*» mothers day
To: "Rukhsana@yahoogroups.com" <Rukhsana@yahoogroups.com>
Sent: Monday, 14 May 2012 11:35 AM
Subject: «*» RUKHSANA«*» Re: «*» RUKHSANA«*» mothers day
Rose!
From: Sonya Khan <khansonya95@yahoo.co.uk>To:rukhsana@yahoogroups.com; Sent: Monday, May 14, 2012 5:59 AMSubject: «*» RUKHSANA«*» mothers day 
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