In celebration of Mother's Day yesterday, President Obama called three moms who had written him letters. Then kids who made their mom a macaroni necklace said, 'Thanks, Obama.'
We never got anything out of the recordings. I'm still as broke as I was when I was with the Mothers.
When a man touches a woman's body, he is not just touching her body. It goes MUCH DEEPER than that for a woman. He is touching parts of her soul-parts as diverse as how she feels about being a grandmother some day, to what is her favorite ice cream, to how much she loves her pet, and to her opinion of how the current President is governing. The man wants a sexual encounter and love is far from his mind; she desires permanence, commitment, safety, and security.
I tried to always include my children in everything that I did. I traveled with them, I brought them with me to work, I tried to balance it between work and being a mother as best as I could.
I didn't leave home until 27. I was an only child raised in Philadelphia by my mother and grandmother. My grandmother controlled the stove. She made a lot of potato meals - mashed potato, potato souffle, potato pancakes. When we didn't have electricity we ate romantically, by candlelight.
Motherhood informs my work 100 per cent.
My grandmother used to say, "Sometimes the loudest person in the room doesn't know what they're talking about." Or isn't secure enough in his or her own views to be able to listen to others.
Every morning, just like in Alabama, I got up with the sun, ate my breakfast even before my mother and sisters and brothers, and went to school, winter, spring, and fall alike to run and jump and bend my body this way and that for Mr. Charles Riley.
I'm very jealous of my daughter's education. She's been inspired by her teachers, and nobody inspired me as a teenager.
My daughter has always had a strong sense of her own identity. From the day she was born her father and I were in love with and in awe of her and still are.
I've just got crap hair. Although I inherited a lot of stuff from my dad, including giant knees, I didn't get his good, thick hair. I got my mother's thin, wispy, non-event hair instead.
like any Irish mother, I am scar tissue to the bone.
I try to do everything to say, 'OK, will my mother like this? Will she be pleased? Will she be proud of that? How do I know she's happy and she's smiling down at me from heaven?' And that's what I try to go by and walk by.
I wanted to write about women and their work, and about valuing the work we, as women, choose to do. Too many women I knew disparaged their work. Many working mothers thought they ought to be home with their children instead, so they carried around too much guilt to enjoy much job satisfaction.
My mother and my father were very nurturing and wonderful examples of how to live your life.
My mom wasn't a movie star.
I think my love of journalizing my life comes from my mom.
I was blessed to have a mother and father that recognized the value of education.
What is amazing for a woman of my age is that I change as the world is changing-and changing very, very fast. I don't think my mother had that opportunity to change.
Rodney set a plate in front of me and one in front of my mother. I almost fainted when she began to eat instead of hurling it at him. Had one of the vampires gotten tired of her bitching and bitten her into a better mood? She caught my flabbergasted look. "I watched what he put in it" she said defensively. Rodney, instead of being insulted, just laughed. "You're welcome, Justina.
Her mother was a Rutherford. The family came over in the ark, and were connected by marriage with Henry the VIII. On her father's side they date back further than Adam. On the topmost branches of her family tree there's a superior breed of monkeys with very fine silky hair and extra long tails.
[That night] I was sitting by Jack Nicholson with my long list of thanks, and I said, `I'm so nervous. I don't know what to say if I go up there.' He said, `Don't get emotional, drop the names, and dedicate it to your mother.'
The place you have to start to be any good at this, at acting, is with yourself. Everything is inside of you, all of it - the murderer, the great mother, the therapist, the husband. Everything is inside of us.
Have you ever been through a painful season in life and wished for something new, something fresh, or even something healing to come along? Take this journey with Robin Price, a widow and single mother with a big heart and passion for those closest to her as she wades through trying to live, let go, and love again. Wishing on Willows is a story of hope that will find you stepping up to the willow tree and daring to make wishes
My mother was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. There are moments when I remember her beauty, unadorned, unposed, not in some artificial place like a set or a photo call but rather captured outdoors in nature, where she took my breath away. When those moments surface, I miss her the most.