"Letter from a mother to her children", by Isabel Allende


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Many people think that being a mother is simply a "life cycle" process, a circumstance by which we must simply go through the survival instinct ... but it is not, it goes much more than that. And yes, not everything is cute like they do on TV when they interview a model mom, they are not all laughs and cakes, behind the curtain there is a lot of sweat and effort to make your children as happy as possible. I share with you a letter from a world-famous Chilean writer, Isabel Allende.

"Letter from a mother to her children", by Isabel Allende

Whenever they want to talk about mothers on television they show women with children in their arms, smiling, sweet, affectionate, without a trace of tiredness, splendidly made up and to that they add wonderful posters phrases.

Lies! Moms are not self-sacrificing lovers of sacrifice and brave warriors who can do everything. Moms cry hugging the pillow when no one sees us, we order the epidural in childbirth and we whistle in 17 languages ​​when we have to set the alarm at 2 in the morning to pick them up for a party. When we tell them not to quarrel with that little fellow who says 'dwarf' or 'four eyes', and give them all sorts of conciliatory explanations, we would really want to have the little executioner's throat in our hands. And we also think that the old geography is a bad bug when they lower the note because they do not know how many meters the Aconcagua measures, in the end, who the horns does. But we can not say.

It's not that we love to spend hours in the kitchen trying to make fish not like fish and hiding vegetables in all sorts of concoctions, instead of throwing a patty on the grill, is that we are afraid that they will not grow as they are should. It is not that we really worry about whether or not to put a sachet, is that we are afraid of getting sick.

Because being a mom does not have to do with pregnancies, diapers and aspirinette smiles. It has to do with wanting someone more than one.

With being able to do anything as long as you do not suffer. NOTHING, never, ever. You make us happy when they love our food, when they consider us wise to answer all the questions of the television contests. When they come crying cries because they scratched the knee and give us the possibility to give them comfort and band-aids. When we're just waking up, they tell us, how cute you are, Mom.

You make us better. They give us strength. We would eat raw gurka before anyone touched you a toe. We wash our faces and leave the bathroom with a smile from ear to ear to let them know that life is good, even if we go as the Reverend ...

We sing the songs of Chiquititas and we see Barney and we listen to the lice and we buy Nopucid and we revise 500 times the table of the 2 and we arrange the carburetor to take to the pibes to soccer, English, drawing, the psychologist, to basketball, to volleyball, dances, the house of the friend, the private teacher, the dentist, the doctor, to buy a pair of trousers.

And we put together 24 sachets with little rings and bracelets and we tried to make the cake look like a Pikachu and we looked for another job and we got credit and bought books and went to the psychiatrist and the pediatrician and the videos and we negotiated with the teachers and the creditors and cut out little figures and we study with you rivers, provinces, capitals of the countries of Europe and we get pretty and we get angry and we laugh and we get mad and we become the witch and the princess of all the stories. ONLY AND EXCLUSIVELY TO SEE THEM HAPPY. SEEING YOU HAPPY IS WHAT MAKES US HAPPY.

I wish we could hit the world with scotch tape (like the night stand that fell into combat in the last pajamas party war), so that it would be a better place for you.

THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME YOUR MOM. THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME SO IMPORTANT. Thanks for all the crap you do at school with corchitos and toothpicks (which I almost never understand for what they serve, but I keep it religiously) thanks for the hugs, the kisses, the tears, the pains, the baby teeth, drawings in the refrigerator, the Amoxidal of so many sleepless nights, bulletins, broken garden plants for playing ball, my makeup ruined for being used to play the mom, for the photos of the primary.

They are my best medals. Thank you because I LOVE YOU. And that's the love that MAKES ME GREAT ... The rest is marketing.

Fuente: buenavibra.es
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