My little boy came into the kitchen this evening while I was fixing supper, and he handed me
a piece of paper he'd been writing on, and after wiping my hands on my apron, I read
it, and this is what it said, for mowing the yard, $5, making my own bed this week, $1,
and going to the store, 50 cents, and watching little brother while you went shopping, 25
cents.
For taking action.



Getting out the trash, $1, getting a good report card, $5, and raking the yard, $2, total
old, $14.75.
Well, I stood there looking at him expectantly, and a thousand memories flashed through my
mind, so I picked up the pen.
Turning the paper over, this is what I wrote.
For the nine months I carried you, growing inside me, no charge.
For the nights I sat up with you, doctored you, prayed for you, no charge.
For the time and the tears.
And the cost through the years, there's no charge.
When you add it all up, the full cost of my love is no charge.
For the nights filled with dread, and the worry ahead, no charge.
For advice.
And the knowledge, and the cost of your college, no charge.
For the toys, food, and clothes, and the full wipe in your nose, there's no charge, son.
When you add it all up, the full cost of my love is no charge.
Well, when he finished reading, he had great big old tears in his eyes.
And he looked up at me, and he said, Mama, I sure do love you.
Then he took the pen, and in great big letters he wrote, paid in full.
When you add it all up, the cost of real love is no charge.
There's no charge.