I carefully arrange the throws in the living room: two large crocheted blankets, a smaller one, and a woven wool piece. Unless, of course, my partner or kids decide to drag another one in, scattering them about. In our formal living room, there are the more elegant options: an Irish wool throw, a luxurious cashmere blanket, and a fluffy one that looks like it came from a puppet show gone wrong. My husband and three sons, primarily the boys, haphazardly pull them down, crumple them up, and leave them on the floor for the dogs to lounge on or use to construct makeshift forts. So, it falls upon me to gather each one, fold it neatly, and place it back on the couch—only to repeat this cycle six times a day. This endless task seems to escape everyone else’s notice; they just keep tossing them back down.
The same pattern applies to countless little things around the house. I’m the one who adjusts the throw rugs, from the kitchen to the dining room and living room. I’m the one who collects the pillows (far less patiently) after the kids use them for fort-building or simply throw them around for fun.
These are the everyday tasks every mother undertakes, yet they often go unnoticed. Over time, this lack of recognition can weigh heavily on the spirit. You start to feel insignificant, as if your efforts are unappreciated. It stings.
I don’t mind the larger chores, like doing the laundry or cleaning the bathrooms—though I do these things sporadically. At least my husband acknowledges those tasks with a simple “thank you,” which lends meaning to the work I do. It reminds him of my love for him and our children, and it’s comforting to know my efforts are valued.
Then there are the small tasks that no one sees. Each time I spot a marble—thanks to my toddler’s fascination—I pick it up and put it away. Every collectible coin from their grandfather gets collected and placed in their bank. I have a little metallic station on a side table where I stash tiny items like Lego pieces and toy soldiers. It’s disheartening that my family remains oblivious to these efforts.
There’s a well-known metaphor about the builders of cathedrals, where we remember the architects but forget the laborers who created the beauty we admire. This is often used to illustrate the selfless nature of motherhood. Sure, I’m fulfilling my role, but I desperately wish for someone to notice when I’m bent over, retrieving crayons from the dog bowl, and acknowledge, “You’re doing a great job with the little things, Mom.” Or perhaps, “I saw you folding that throw again today. You’re amazing.”
Some may say I’m complaining, suggesting that I should accept this as part of being a stay-at-home mom. And maybe they’re right. A sprinkle of Mary Poppins’ charm might help, but I find it hard to muster that energy when I’m pulling a Lego piece from my dog’s paw. It’s not that these chores are particularly burdensome; it’s the feeling that my family either doesn’t see them or takes them for granted—neither of which feels good.
I hang the hand towels in the bathroom. I take out trash from every room. I lay out the kids’ clothes, including pajamas and underwear, ensuring everything fits. I even select their shoes and hats, mindful of the sun. After we’ve all been sick, I organize the medicine, discarding expired items and making a list of what we need. I ensure the kids have sunscreen and their favorite snacks. Most of this goes unnoticed. Is this the essence of motherhood? Is this what it means to love? Because, frankly, it feels draining.
I’ve tried discussing these feelings with my husband. He seemed to understand, suggesting I shouldn’t get upset about the mess because I’m the one cleaning it. He encouraged me to adopt a “not my mess” mentality, and I’m working on it, but I worry it’s unfair to my oldest son and that weighs on me as well.
So I continue to fold, pick up tiny toys, arrange pillows, and put away pens, all while waiting for someone, anyone, to notice.
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Summary:
This article explores the often unseen and unacknowledged labor of motherhood. It highlights the emotional toll of performing countless household tasks that go unnoticed by family members, leading to feelings of futility and insignificance. The author expresses a desire for recognition and appreciation for the small yet significant details that contribute to family life.