I neatly arrange the throws in the living room — two large crocheted blankets, a smaller one, and a cozy woven wool cover. Unless someone, whether it be my kids or my husband, decides to drag another one in there, the task feels endless. In our more formal sitting room, we have the upscale blankets: a luxurious Irish wool throw, a cashmere gift, and a fuzzy one that looks like it was sourced from a Muppet’s retirement home. My husband and three sons, primarily the boys, love to pull these down, crumple them up, and leave them strewn about for the dogs to lounge on, or turn them into makeshift forts. So, I find myself picking up each one in order, folding it, and placing it back neatly on the couch — repeating this cycle six times a day. It seems this effort goes unnoticed by everyone else.
The same scenario plays out with countless small tasks around the house. I’m the one who straightens the throw rugs, whether in the kitchen, dining room, or living areas. I also pick up the pillows (often with a bit of annoyance) after my kids use them for their fortress-building escapades or simply toss them around for fun.
These are the everyday tasks that mothers handle, yet they often remain unseen. Over time, this lack of acknowledgment can weigh heavily on the spirit. You begin to feel insignificant, as though your time and efforts hold no value, and that can be painful.
I don’t mind the bigger chores. I handle the laundry — washing, drying, sorting, folding, and putting it away. I clean the bathrooms — not as often as I should, but I do it. These tasks are noticed, at least by me and usually by my husband, who acknowledges my efforts with a simple “thank you” (even if I have to point out that I swept the kitchen floor). His recognition gives meaning to my work, reminding me of my love for him and the children, because honestly, why else would I tackle these chores?
Then there are the unnoticed tasks. Every time I spot a stray marble — a common occurrence thanks to my youngest — I pick it up and place it in the designated container. Whenever I come across one of the collectible coins their grandfather gifted them, I put it away in their bank. I have a little spot in the living room where I stash tiny items like Lego pieces and plastic soldiers — a place my family is completely oblivious to. The existence of this spot, right in the middle of our living space, adds to my sense of deflation.
There’s a well-known analogy about cathedrals: we remember the architect but forget the quiet laborers who crafted the beauty we admire. This metaphor often extends to motherhood, suggesting that we don’t need acknowledgment because our work creates beauty. Is this expectation part of my role? Probably. I’m not trying to escape it; I just want someone to notice. A simple “You’re doing a great job with the details, Mom” or “I saw you fold that throw six times today; you’re a hero” would mean the world.
Some might see this as whining; they might tell me to toughen up, reminding me that this is the reality of being a stay-at-home mom. Perhaps they’re right, and maybe a touch of Mary Poppins’ spirit would make things easier. But when I’m pulling a Lego piece out of my dog’s paw, it’s hard to summon that cheerfulness. The tasks themselves aren’t necessarily dreadful; it’s the feeling of being taken for granted that stings.
I hang the hand towels in the bathroom, take out the trash throughout the house, and lay out my kids’ clothes — even their pajamas and underwear, ensuring everything is the right size. I select their shoes and hats (because the sun can be harsh). After we’ve all been ill, I put away the medicine and regularly check for expired items, making a list of what we need. I ensure the kids have sunscreen and their favorite snacks. All of this happens behind the scenes, with little to no acknowledgment. Is this what motherhood entails? Is this the essence of love? Because, frankly, this part can be quite exhausting.
I’ve tried discussing my feelings with my husband. He seems to understand, suggesting I shouldn’t get upset about messes. I explained that the messes upset me precisely because I’m the one who cleans them up. He recommended I practice saying, “Not my mess,” and let the kids handle it. I’ve made an effort, and it helps a bit. Yet, I worry about placing too much on my eldest, which feels unfair and burdensome in its own right.
So I continue folding, picking up tiny toys, arranging pillows, and putting away stray pens, all while hoping someone — anyone — will take notice.
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Summary
In the often-overlooked world of motherhood, small, repetitive tasks can feel thankless. While the big chores may receive acknowledgment, it’s the little, unnoticed actions that weigh on a mother’s spirit. Seeking recognition for these efforts is not about escaping responsibilities but rather a desire for validation. The struggle is real, and it’s crucial to find ways to cope and communicate these feelings within the family.
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