Strongest Mom Quotes

I took the life of the woman I was supposed to call mother in the process of being born... in order to become the world's strongest shinobi... an incarnation of sand was implanted inside of me...

One of the strongest loves I’ve ever witnessed is the love a mother has for her child.

Mom." I couldn't believe she was doing this again. She was taking this moment, this time when I was strongest, away from me. "I don't care what I have to do," she said, her voice low and even. "I don't care if I have to send you away or switch schools. I don't care if I have to follow you twenty-four hours a day, you will not see him, Halley. You will not destroy yourself this way." "Why are you just assuming I'm going back to him?" I asked her, just as she was drawing in breath to make another point. "Why don't you ask me what I said to him out there?" She shut her mouth, caught off guard. "What?" "Why don't you ever wait a second and see what I'm planning, or thinking, before you burst in with your opinions and ideas? You never even give me a chance." "Yes, I do," she said indignantly. "No," I said. "You don't. And then you wonder why I never tell you anyone or share anything with you. I can never trust you with anything or share anything with you. I can never trust you with anything, give you any piece of me without you grabbing it to keep for yourself." "That's not true," she said slowly, but it was just now hitting her, I could see it. "Halley, you don't always know what's at stake, and I do." "I will never learn," I said to her slowly, "until you let me." And so we stood there in the kitchen, my mother and I, facing off over everything that had built up since June, when I was willing to hand myself over free and clear. Now I needed her to return it all to me, with the faith that I could make my own way.

Because the majority of the Amazon rainforest was in Brazil, Mom and Dad somehow decided to name me after the rainforest. “You were born on a rainy day, and was one of the strongest babies at the hospital,” Mom said. “How did you know?” I asked. “You had the loudest cry, which indicated how strong your lungs and heart were. And you’re a girl so we thought naming you ‘Amazon’ after the rainforest and after the mythical women warriors called Amazons, fits you so well.” Dad said. - Amazon Lee and the Ancient Undead of Rome by Kira G. and Kailin Gow

This is the strongest I have ever wanted a family. Other people to worry with. I am the only person worrying for her and it feels to me like this diminishes her odds of recovery. To have many people praying for you suddenly seems like a necessary thing and I consider telling the woman next to me what is happening, if only to have another person thinking about my Mom.

Trent Vincent Andrews!” came a voice from inside the condo. “What was that?” Harper jumped. Trent grimaced. The morning was about to get a lot more entertaining. “Are you home, sweetheart?” Harper’s eyes went wide. “Vincent?” Trent jumped off the bed and threw the cover over Harper. “My mom shows up, you’re naked, I have a raging hard-on, and yet you focus on my middle name?

This is what makes me crazy in this family, Dad. I don't care that you hit us. I really don't. That's over and there's nothing any of us can do about it. But I can't stand it when I state a simple fact about this family's history and I'm told by you or Mom that it didn't happen. But you've got to know, Dad, and I'm saying this as a son who loves you, that you were a shit to your kids. Not all the time. Not every day. Not every month. But we never knew what would set you off. We never knew when your temper would explode and we'd have the strongest shrimper on the river knocking us around the house. So we learned to be afraid without making a sound. And Mom was a loyal wife to you, Dad. She would never let us tell a soul that you were hitting us. Most of the time, she was like you and would simply tell us it didn't happen the way we remembered it.

You must have been the best mother in the world. Have prayed seventeen times a day...just for me. Been the strongest woman on earth. Had a direct connection to God. Have been hand-picked to parent a daughter like me. Know how much I miss you everyday. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. You are woven into every thought, dream and ambition I possess...... Happy Mother's Day, mom. I miss you and love you.....

I’ve loved your mom at her weakest, at her strongest, at her most broken. And she’s loved me at mine. There’s never been a day where I haven’t loved her.

I never wanted it to end. I wondered if it felt like this the first time. Seeing him. Really seeing him. He wiped his eyes. “You really want to know, don’t you.” “Yeah.” “Why?” I gave in. I couldn’t not. I reached over and put my hand on his knee. He tensed briefly but settled when I curled my fingers over his leg, just letting my hand rest there. I couldn’t look at him. I thought my face was on fire. He said, “That’s….” His voice broke. He cleared his throat. “After the hunters came, something shifted. Between us. I don’t know how or why exactly. You stopped being weird around me.” “Seems like I’ve picked that right up again.” He chuckled. “A little. It’s okay, though. It’s like… a beginning. You came to me one day. You were sweating. I remember thinking something bad had happened because you kept wringing your hands until I thought you were going to break your bones. I asked you what was wrong. And you know what you said? “Probably something stupid.” “You said that you didn’t think you could ever give up on me. That no matter how long it took, you would be there until I told you otherwise. That you weren’t going to push me for anything but you thought I should know that you had… intentions.” “Oh dear god,” I said in horror. “And that worked?” Kelly snorted, and I felt his hand on the back of mine. “Not quite. But what you said next did.” I looked over at him. “What did I say?” He was watching me with human eyes, and I thought I could love him. I saw how easy it could be. I didn’t, not yet, but oh, I wanted to. “You said you thought the world of me. That we’d been through so much and you couldn’t stand another day if I didn’t know that. You told me that you were a good wolf, a strong wolf, and if I’d only give you a chance, you’d make sure I’d never regret it.” I had to know. “Have you?” “No,” he whispered. “Not once. Not ever.” He looked away. “It was good between us. We took it slow. You smiled all the time. You brought me flowers once. Mom was pissed because you ripped them up from her flower bed and there were still roots and dirt hanging from the bottom, but you were so damn proud of yourself. You said it was romantic. And I believed you.” He plucked a blade of grass and held it in the palm of his hand. “There was something… I don’t know. Endless. About you and me.” He took my hand off his knee and turned it over. He set the blade of grass in my palm and closed his hand over mine. He looked toward the sky and the stars through the canopy of leaves. “We came here sometimes. Just the two of us. And you would pretend to know all the stars. You would make up stories that absolutely weren’t true, and I remember looking at you, thinking how wonderful it was to be by your side. And if we were lucky, there’d be—ah. Look. Again.” His voice was wet and soft, and it cracked me right down the middle. Fireflies rose around us, pulsing slowly. At first there were only two or three, but then more began to hang heavy in the air. They were yellow-green, and I wondered how this could be real. Here. Now. This moment. How I ever could have forgotten this. Forgotten him. It had to have been the strongest magic the world had ever known. That was the only way I’d have ever left his side. He reached out with his other hand, quick and light, and snatched a firefly out of the air. He was careful not to crush it. He leaned his head toward mine like he was about to tell me a great secret. Instead he opened his hand between us. The firefly lay near the bottom of his ring finger. Its shell was black with a stripe down the middle. It barely moved. “Just wait,” Kelly whispered. I did. It only took a moment. The firefly pulsed in his hand. “There it is,” he said. He pulled away and lifted his hand. The firefly took to its wings, lifting off and flying away. He stared after it. I only had eyes for him.

Somehow, a pervasive idea has spread in modern times that the mom who is out and about soonest with her baby is somehow the strongest, like an episode of Survivor. For some type-A parents, it's almost a badge of honor to say you made it to yoga after two weeks, snuck off to the office for a meeting, or flew with your infant across time zones. But that's all upside down—in a healthy postpartum period, it's she who stays still that wins the prize.

Do you ever get tired of being so funny? It's a nice little smoke screen, but I know you. Confident people do stuff. They get stuff done. They make things, even if it's just making money. You know what you're making?" "It doesn't matter." "You're making our couch sag. That's about it. You're making your mom sad because you're not trying. You're making your siblings miserable because you're acting like you're miserable." "I am. I'm depressed and on a bunch of drugs. I want to take more of them every day just to feel different." "This isn't depression and that's not their fault. But I don't want to fight. I think what we're about to do is going to give you a way to make some progress." "There's nothing important about lifting weights." "There's nothing insignificant about progress. Let's just give it a try.

We must be willing, too, to seek common ground and shared interests. Perhaps you and the other person have very different views on some things but both share a concern for the emotional health of gay people who feel hurt by the church. If so, that’s a starting point. You can find ways to build on that without having to compromise on your most deeply held values. This kind of gracious dialogue is hard for a lot of people. It feels wishy-washy to them, as if it requires that they stop thinking the other side is wrong. However, it’s not as if there are only two ways of relating to a person—either agree on everything, or preach at them about the things you disagree on. We already know this. Every day, we all interact with many people in our lives, and we probably disagree with the vast majority of them on a lot of things: politics, religion, sex, relationships, morality, you name it. Very few of my friends share my theological beliefs, and yet I don’t feel compelled to bring those differences up time and time again, making them feel self-conscious about them. If I did, I’d probably lose those people as friends. Most of the time, I’m not even thinking about our differences; I’m just thinking about who they are as people and the many reasons I like them. Grace sees people for what makes them uniquely beautiful to God, not for all the ways they’re flawed or all the ways I disagree with them. That kind of grace is what enables loving bridges to be built over the strongest disagreements. Gracious dialogue is hard work. It requires effort and patience, and it’s tempting to put it off. All of us have busy lives and a lot of other issues to address. But for anyone who cares about the future of the church, this can’t be put off. The next generation is watching how we handle these questions, and they’re using that to determine how they should treat people and whether this Christianity business is something they want to be involved in. Moms like Cindy are waiting to know that their churches are willing to stand with them in working through a difficult issue. And gay Christians everywhere, in every church and denomination, are trying to find their place in the world. Will we rise to the challenge? Will we represent Jesus well? Or will we be more like modern-day Pharisees?

Giovanni, in love with her unabashed feminine strength and her reconciliation of love and revolution. I spent nearly every waking moment around Nikki, and I loved her dearly. But sibling relationships are often fraught with petty tortures. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her. But I had. At the time, I couldn’t understand my mother’s anger. I mean this wasn’t really a woman I was punching. This was Nikki. She could take it. Years would pass before I understood how that blow connected to my mom’s past. My mother came to the United States at the age of three. She was born in Lowe River in the tiny parish of Trelawny, Jamaica, hours away from the tourist traps that line the coast. Its swaths of deep brush and arable land made it great for farming but less appealing for honeymoons and hedonism. Lowe River was quiet, and remote, and it was home for my mother, her older brother Ralph, and my grandparents. My maternal great-grandfather Mas Fred, as he was known, would plant a coconut tree at his home in Mount Horeb, a neighboring area, for each of his kids and grandkids when they were born. My mom always bragged that hers was the tallest and strongest of the bunch. The land that Mas Fred and his wife, Miss Ros, tended had been cared for by our ancestors for generations. And it was home for my mom until her parents earned enough money to bring the family to the States to fulfill my grandfather’s dream of a theology degree from an American university. When my mom first landed in the Bronx, she was just a small child, but she was a survivor and learned quickly. She studied the other kids at school like an anthropologist, trying desperately to fit in. She started with the way she spoke. She diligently listened to the radio from the time she was old enough to turn it on and mimicked what she heard. She’d always pull back enough in her interactions with her classmates to give herself room to quietly observe them, so that when she got home she could practice imitating their accents, their idiosyncrasies, their style. Words like irie became cool. Constable became policeman. Easy-nuh became chill out. The melodic, swooping movement of her Jamaican patois was quickly replaced by the more stable cadences of American English. She jumped into the melting pot with both feet. Joy Thomas entered American University in Washington, D.C., in 1968, a year when she and her adopted homeland were both experiencing

you have been my strongest strength and my weakest weakness yes, everyday i look at you and count my blessings a thousand time over of all the roles i play and all the identities i have strived for playing mom to you is my favorite! may god bless you with all the happiness and success in this world.. may you shine on! and all i am going to say today is “i can” may you keep moving forward and if you ever need to look back, you will find me standing right behind you saying “you can son” cause i will always be your biggest fan and your loudest cheerleader!

Nothing special. They kept on asking me ‘Who’s the one who sent you’ and stuff like that. I got tired of their nagging so I just told them ‘Your mom.

Figure 2.1 Cortical connections over two years adapted from Conel The top row shows the baby’s cortex at birth, then at one month and at three months. They all look about the same, don’t they? But look what happens at six months (bottom left box): the number of cell bodies remains the same, but the number of connections has multiplied exponentially. The connections grow so quickly in the first three years of life that neuroscientists call it neural exuberance. Neural exuberance! The name is well earned: The baby’s brain makes 24 million new connections every minute, and this continues for the first three years of life. Each neuron may be connected to 1,000 other neurons — that multiplies out to 100 trillion possible connections between neurons, more than the number of stars in the universe. This high level of connectivity between brain cells leads to the cortex of a three-year-old being twice as thick as an adult’s! As connections are created, new abilities emerge. For example, when connections grow in Broca’s area — speech production — around six months, then children begin to speak. Around nine months of age, the frontal areas (behind the forehead) become more interconnected, and that’s when most children develop object permanence: knowing that objects continue to exist even when they are out of sight. Before object permanence develops, when Mom is out of sight she’s no longer in the baby’s universe. This is why young babies are inconsolable when Mom leaves. Once they start to develop object permanence, babies can hold on to an internal image of Mom. This is about the age that babies play peek-a-boo. Mom disappears when she puts the blanket over her head, but the nine-month-old knows Mom’s still there even if he can’t see her. The infant tests his “knowledge” when he pulls the blanket off and sees — sure enough! —Mom really is there! What is the use of so many brain connections in the first three years of life? These connections are ready-made highways for information to travel along. The toddlers’ ability to quickly adapt and learn is possible because they have a vast number of brain connections available for making sense of the world. Thanks to neural exuberance, the child does not need to create connections on the spur of the moment to make meaning of each new experience; myriad connections are already there. Pruning of connections The number of connections remains high from age 3 until age 10, when the process of neural pruning begins. Connections that are being used remain; others get absorbed back into the neuron. It’s similar to pruning a bush. After pruning, individual branches get thicker, fruit is more abundant, and the whole bush gets fuller. This seems a little counter-intuitive, but pruning works because it allows the plant’s limited resources to go to its strongest parts; water and nutrients are no longer wasted on spindly branches and dried-out roots. Similarly, when unused brain connections are pruned, neural resources are more available for brain areas that are being used. This results in a more useful and efficient brain that’s tailor-made to meet each individual’s needs. This process of pruning occurs in all brain areas. Figure 2.2 presents findings published by Sowell and associates. They measured Magnetic Resonance Imaging in 176 normal subjects from age 7 to 87 years. The x-axes in these graphs present years from 10 to 90 years. Notice there is a common pattern of decreasing connections in all brain areas. In some brain areas this change is steeper, such as in frontal areas, but is flatter in other areas such as temporal areas in the left hemisphere.

Mom, if you can understand me, if you’re listening, if you’re here: I love you, I love you, I love you. Thank you for everything, my whole life. And please forgive me. You did not deserve what I said. You are not a monster. You are not a beast. You are the kindest, gentlest, strongest— You are the most wonderful being I have ever, ever known.

It’s always been just the two of us, me and my mom, all the time I was growing up. When Cyrus moved next door, I gained a brother, and she gained a son. But they’re all I have. Everything I’ve learned about art—about life—I learned from her. Before the sickness, she was the strongest, most beautiful, most caring person I knew. Even now, she’s dealt with all the endless days of her slowly dying body with more patience and stamina than I ever could. All my dreams of ascending and being worthy of Lenora are just that: fantasy. Right here, in the grimy reality of Seattle, all I really have is my mom, my best friend, and my art. I can’t let her give up. I

Harper’s eyes went wide. “Vincent?” Trent jumped off the bed and threw the cover over Harper. “My mom shows up, you’re naked, I have a raging hard-on, and yet you focus on my middle name?

But before you lose confidence remember this: You are part of a continuous chain of successful parents stretching back to the beginning of time! You and your baby have survived because you’re descended from the best moms, most protective dads, and strongest children the world has ever seen. You may not know everything, but that’s okay…billions of parents have done it before you, and they weren’t all rocket scientists.

Sometimes, a father becomes the most emotional mom on earth; and mother, the strongest dad.

Tuesday liked Dorry’s dad. A lot. She wasn’t sure what he did, but he did it in a lab or a biotech company near MIT. He wasn’t very tall—Tuesday dwarfed him, and Dorry would be taller than him too, soon—and he was nerdy and bald, but he embraced his nature with dark-framed glasses and crisp collared shirts, pressed khakis and soft brown shoes. He had a nicely shaped head and dark eyes, and if he had a bit of a gut, he didn’t carry it with shame. He talked fast. Sometimes she saw a glimpse of Dorry in him, like when he looked away when he was describing something complicated, as if he were working it out as he spoke, and to make eye contact while he did so would overload his CPU. From stories Dorry had told about him, both from before and after Dorry’s mom died, Tuesday had a fuller picture of the man: He was sad. He was brilliant. Talking—especially about how he felt, but words in general—wasn’t his strongest suit. But he was trying to do what he thought was right for his daughter. Even Dorry could admit that, even if they didn’t have the same idea about what that meant.

Among all of the topics I cover in this book, the choice to vaccinate on schedule is backed by the strongest, clearest, biggest pile of evidence.

He held out his hand and studied his fingers. They were long and thin, not calloused like the other Hephaestus campers’. Leo had never been the biggest or the strongest kid. He’d survived in tough neighbourhoods, tough schools, tough foster homes by using his wits. He was the class clown, the court jester, because he’d learned early that if you cracked jokes and pretended you weren’t scared, you usually didn’t get beaten up. Even the baddest gangster kids would tolerate you, keep you around for laughs. Plus, humour was a good way to hide the pain. And if that didn’t work there was always Plan B. Run away. Over and over. There was a Plan C, but he’d promised himself never to use it again. He felt an urge to try it now – something he hadn’t done since the accident, since his mom’s death. He extended his fingers and felt them tingle, like they were waking up – pins and needles. Then flames flickered to life, curls of red-hot fire dancing across his palm.

She’s entered a dark place, and you must try to guide her through it,” Shane said. “On the mountain, your mom was facing physical danger, but now she’s facing relentless sorrow—a formidable opponent for even the strongest individuals. This is a defining point in your mom’s life. Either this situation will force her to find the wisdom she seeks, or she’ll fall prey to the darkness.” “That’s why before I crossed over, I left my mom a message in my journal: Everything is a gift, even pain, and with these gifts, we pursue knowledge and eradicate hate. I knew she’d be facing this nightmarish journey, and I hoped it would help give her the strength to overcome the challenges,” Isaac said. “It seems counterintuitive, but sometimes pain can lead people to surprising gifts. I learned this from being a special needs kid. When you’re ridiculed for your disabilities, it causes one to do a lot of soul searching. Physical pain is a warning sign to help prevent someone from injuring themselves, whereas emotional pain can force people out of their comfort zones and cause them to reevaluate their perspectives on issues they’re struggling with. In doing so, they can find valuable insights, clarity of mind, and wisdom. In this way, pain is a bridge to obtaining those gifts. When people are content, they have little reason to reevaluate their perspectives. As a result, they’re less likely to find the priceless gifts that are theirs for the taking. Although this concept is challenging, especially when we’re in the eye of the storm, sometimes we learn the most from difficult journeys. . . . It’s easier to appreciate once the storm has passed, but you already know this.