Shoot, I might as well post what I wrote about our Moms in my book,
Once a Brat.  It's been altered a bit from the original, but the
sentiment is the same.

My mom was a WWII Vintage, hauling kids from one end of the earth to
the other, birthing children overseas, in dusty, remote duty stations,
jungles and frozen tundra.  Enduring seasickness, inoculations for God
knows how many exotic diseases, keeping our shot records, school
records, silk kimonos, pets, bicycles, treasured toys (despite
household goods weight restrictions - some of her stuff had to be left
behind; it wasn't nearly as important as her kids' stuff).  Taking us,
unescorted, into the foreign countryside, determined we absorb the
foreign culture as fully as we could; enforcing "the rules" in Dad's
frequent absences, with almost as firm a hand as his, but seasoned
with just a pinch of understanding what we were going through.
Ordering from the Sears, Roebuck catalog and sweating the exquisite
timing for a special outfit for an important occasion, such as
graduation from 6th grade, being chosen May Queen, or playing the part
of the Princess in the school play, and when the parcel didn't arrive
in time, sacrificing one of her very own "ball gowns."
A West Texas farm girl training a houseboy and house girl in the
Orient one year, in Pidgin English, no less; doing her own
housecleaning and laundry the next, and handling both with amazing
aplomb.  The next year, she begins all over again, training in garbled
German-Austrian dialect with voluminous hand gestures, a giant woman
refugee from Yugoslavia as maid, cook and baby sitter, in quarters
appropriated from Nazi sympathizers, while keeping in mind that packed
suitcases under the beds and Russians across the Danube meant
evacuation could be implemented at any moment.  Keeping her own grief
in check while her kids cry over leaving yet another batch of friends,
knowing she might never see her own circle of friends again.
Packing, unpacking, making a home with "make do, and do without.”
Keeping in touch with family back in the Zone of the Interior by
letter, written at times by dim lantern light when the Russians in
their Zone of Occupation decided to deprive us of electricity at any
given time.  Myriads more sacrifices made on our behalf.   Ordinary
women in extraordinary circumstances.  God bless " her , and all the
Military Wives, past, present and future. ."
Well done, Ladies.