Motherhood shouldn’t just be a drudgery. Find fulfillment in your most important calling–mother.
Enjoy the holiday today. We’re trying to focus on the real reason for this Easter season (though, don’t worry, we have candy). This message was shared by an apostle last Sunday in the semi-annual worldwide conference of the church and I simply cannot say it better than this special witness of Christ.
We may all have come to motherhood differently, with different expectations, for different reasons. But on the really bad days—the ones that start at 6 AM, after the kids have gotten me out of bed ten times (no exaggerating) during the night, where my patience is threadbare before both children have finished breakfast—in my heart of hearts, I’m afraid that I’m one of those people who should never be a mother.
Really, I know that’s not true. I know that this is what I’m supposed to do, and I’ve always known it. At my high school graduation, they had us fill out a slip of paper with our top three career choices. I put down writer and, after some thought, mother.
As I recall, I couldn’t think of a third.
But even if motherhood hasn’t been the destination you’ve envisioned since high school, you are meant to be a mother. If your arms have ever hungered for a child—if you’ve ever struggled with your children all day, only to miss them the minute they’re asleep—if you’ve ever marveled that this perfect little person, this growing, intelligent, sweet, forgiving child, could be yours—
If you have ever loved your child—
You are meant to be a mother.
We’ve been talking about how mothers are important ’round here, and we’re not the only ones. This month, Blog Talk Radio started a new show called Why Moms Matter. As soon as I heard about this show, I had to jump on the chance to get to know more about it (and promptly lose the email several times in spam filters and the haze that is sometimes motherhood!). Danielle Smith, one of the hosts, answered my questions and told me a little more about why they feel moms really do matter:
Why DO moms matter?
Moms matter because they are the soul of their families. They almost always put everyone else first and are willing to take the burnt piece of chicken, the smallest piece of cake, and the least comfy blanket. The forfeit their time, their energy, their sleep for the good of their family. And they do it willingly—not to be a martyr. Every day, Moms do a million ‘ordinary’ things that combine to make them the ‘extraordinary’ people we know and love.
What’s the hardest part for you in convincing individual moms that they matter?
The biggest challenge—moms don’t see anything ‘special’ or ‘unique’ in what they do daily. They certainly know they love their families and they know they would do anything for them, but it is hard to see those traits as ‘extraordinary.’ Most moms feel that they do their job, with love, but recognition makes them slightly embarrassed.
How can mothers support one another and show or remind each other that we all matter?
In the most simple ways—tell them! Or hold a door open for a mom you see struggling with a stroller, smile with understanding at a mom struggling to calm a rowdy 2 year old at the grocery store, offer words of advice and encouragement. You would be amazed how far a ‘I completely understand what you are going through’ will go.
How can fathers & others support moms and show that they know moms matter?
In much the same way mothers support each other. Words of encouragement are priceless. Being married to a man who appreciates the sacrifices you make, the bottoms you wipe, the noses you blow, the Dora you endure—that is priceless.
Sounds like they know what they’re talking about, eh? The new Blog Talk Radio show Why Moms Matter strives to give us moms more of the recognition and love we deserve. The show also highlights an ordinary mom with an extraordinary story every week (with profiles of these moms also available on ExtraordinaryMommy and WhyMomsMatter.com). To nominate a mom (“mominate”?), visit MomFaves.
Hosted by Danielle and Josh and Rebecca Unfried, Why Moms Matter airs Fridays at 12:30 Pacific on Blog Talk Radio. Tune in for the encouragement and support we all need (and be sure to listen to old episodes)!
Dear Mothers who Work Outside the Home,
I don’t work outside the home. Sometimes, I frown upon your choice to leave your children for much of their waking hours (with exception, of course, for those who have to support their families).
But a lot of the time, I’m just jealous.
Now, I can only speak for myself. But after a long week of what feels like constant fighting with my toddler and constant feedings for my baby, I can’t help but look at the women who have a reason to get dressed every day with jealousy.
Hayden’s self-portrait part one: messy kitchen
On any given day, the vast majority of my human interactions are with online text, people under the age of three or figments of my imagination (don’t worry, I’m not psychotic; I’m just a writer). On any given day, I will fix seven meals for my son, eight of which he will reject. I will attempt to defuse thirteen temper tantrums and only keep my own temper in check twice. I will issue four timeouts, change three outfits and eleven diapers (on a light day), and let my son watch too much television as I try to carve out a few hours to myself.
I will not be praised, unless I vacuum and/or make dinner. I will not accomplish something that looks productive (unless it falls into those hours I manage to get to myself). I will not make measurable progress toward any meaningful goals.
I will wonder whether I’m doing anything right. I will doubt my ability to fulfill the basic requirements of my job. I will try to figure out how and where to tender my resignation, only to resign myself to figuring this out—mostly because I don’t have any other choice.
That’s my day job. How’s yours?
In reality, I know that many, many women face these same kinds of challenges at work. I know that very few jobs are “fulfilling” in and of themselves. I know that working wouldn’t automatically make me happy.
I also know that working outside the home makes being a mother that much harder. Suddenly, you have to squeeze all the affection, lessons, morality, milestones, discipline, moments and love into half the time. (Oh, and don’t even think about extracurriculars, meals, homework or housework.) Quite frankly, it’s stressful. It makes it almost impossible to have real “me time.”
Hayden’s self-portrait part two: messy mom
I’ve come to accept that as individuals (and mothers), we have different needs. Maybe you’re working because your family needs the money. Maybe you’re there because you would lose your mind at home (um, see above?). It doesn’t really matter. If that’s what you really need, that’s what you need.
And in the end, I don’t look down on that. I can’t judge that. I won’t say you’re less of a mother because you have less time to do it all in.
And I can’t say I envy that.
Love,
Me
Okay, I know, it’s kind of a “duh.” I mean, without our mothers, where would any of us be? Not here, I’ll tell you that 😉 .
My mother on Rebecca’s birthday
But other than that whole biological necessity thing, mothers are important—and not just to make sure that everyone is fed, rested, at school on time, and not without clean underwear.
In a couple minutes, I found a number of scientific studies confirming just how influential mothers are:
It’s easy to look around at the mountain of laundry, the mound of dirty dishes, the teenager’s filthy room we told her to clean fifteen times, the full plate of food the toddler refused to eat, and the grade schooler’s last-minute order of three dozen cupcakes for a class party tomorrow and feel like we’re not important—as if we don’t matter. Yes, being a mother does involve a lot—a lot—of grunt work.
But every once in a while, at least, we need to remember that motherhood is more than chores.
Motherhood is eternally important.
Motherhood is important because being a mother means teaching and guiding future generations. We do make a difference—they do understand and internalize the principles we try so hard to teach them—and they will be better for our efforts.
Why do you think being a mother is important?
The stereotypical image of the forbidden fruit of the Garden of Eden is an apple. I must respectfully dissent from popular opinion here—if I had to choose a modern fruit to grow on the tree of knowledge of good and evil, I’d have to go with the plum.
It’s nothing personal against the fruit; I love plums. I love them so much that I buy them and eat them and enjoy them despite what I’ve long viewed as the fruit’s inherent flaw: the skin. Aubergine or carmine or ultramarine, smooth and cool, the skin of the plum holds the promise of its sweet flesh—but with a price.
When I eat a plum, the first bite follows a silent crescendo of anxious anticipation. As my teeth break that skin, I know that I will soon be enjoying the sweet buff- or burgundy-colored flesh of the plum, one of my favorite fruits. But as that sweet juice hits my tongue, it is immediately mingled with the tart tang of the plum’s skin.
Sometimes, I think of motherhood like a plum. I look at where I am in life, and I know that motherhood is my calling—and I couldn’t imagine giving up my sweet children. But at the same time, I have won that love for my children with a price that at the time felt bitter.
I recently visited a friend, a first-time mom with a seven-week-old. I try to be cautious when talking to new moms; I can never tell if they’re one of the breed of mothers alien to me—they take to that newborn stage with glee, seeming to revel in the sleepless nights, the endless cycle of feedings, the near-loss of self.
My friend was more like me. “How could someone say they love being a mother?” my friend wondered aloud. “How could someone ever find this fulfilling?”
I knew how she felt all too well. When I first became a mother, the initial overwhelming surge of needs, lack of response and feelings of both boredom and inadequacy floored me—motherhood floored me. For weeks, it seemed, the first taste of motherhood, like the first taste of a plum, brought me gall.
I’ve often contemplated peeling a plum before eating it, just to avoid its bitter flavor. But I just know that no matter how sharp my knife, I’ll end up losing a lot of the already-limited sweet flesh if I try to take off that tart outer covering.
It was months before I finally began to taste the sweet of motherhood. It started small—very small—with the first grins. The way his eyes lit up when he saw my face. His laughter. Motherhood was still demanding, and it still is, but the smiles, the giggles, and the spontaneous “I love yous” give glimpses of the sweet dividends I anticipate.
In life, there will always be the bitter. Though I don’t dwell on it as much anymore, adjusting to motherhood will probably always be one of those experiences for me whenever I do look back on it. But, like the plum, there is so much more sweet than the bitter in motherhood—and without that bitter skin, I don’t know if I’d ever really come to value the sweet.
If I had to pick a fruit to make one wise, to know good and evil, it would be the plum. It’s only in seeing the contrast that we really come to know the good and the evil, the bitter and the sweet.
References: Genesis 2 and 3
Part of the March Write-Away Contest at Scribbit