I neatly arrange the throws in the living room. There are two large crocheted blankets, a smaller one, and a woven wool piece. Unless someone—be it my kids or my husband—decides to drag in a new one.
In the more formal sitting area, we have our fancy blankets: an Irish wool throw, a cashmere gift, and a plush blanket that feels like it was made from the softest things imaginable. My husband and three boys, especially my sons, often pull these down, crumpling them and leaving them strewn across the floor for the dogs to lounge on or using them to create forts. So, it falls to me to pick each one up, fold it in order of size, and place it back on the couch. And “repeat” means doing this six times a day. This task seems to escape everyone else’s notice; they just keep dragging them down.
It’s not just the throws that I manage. I’m the one who straightens the throw rugs, from the kitchen to the dining room and living areas. I also pick up the pillows (often with a bit of annoyance) whenever the kids decide to use them for fort-building or just toss them around for fun.
These are the daily tasks every mother undertakes. They are the unrecognized efforts. And over time, that lack of recognition can weigh heavily on the soul. You start feeling like your efforts are in vain, as if you don’t matter. It’s disheartening.
I’m not bothered by the big chores. I handle the laundry—washing, drying, sorting, folding, and putting it away. I clean the bathrooms—admittedly not as often as I should, but I do it. These tasks are acknowledged, at least by me and sometimes by my partner, who graciously thanks me (even if I have to alert him to the fact that I cleaned the kitchen floor). His appreciation gives my work meaning, a subtle reminder that I care for him and our children. Because, really, why else would I do it?
Then, there are the little things that go unnoticed. Each time I spot a marble—often, thanks to my youngest—I pick it up and place it in the container. When I find one of the kids’ collectible coins that their grandfather gifted them, I tuck it away in their bank. I even have a small metallic station in the living room where I stash tiny items I can’t put away immediately. It’s filled with Lego pieces, plastic soldiers, and other small toys. The fact that this little system goes unnoticed deflates me just a bit.
There’s a well-known analogy about cathedrals, emphasizing how we recognize the architects but overlook the quiet laborers who create the beauty we admire. This metaphor is often used to illustrate the selfless nature of motherhood. Sure, maybe these tasks are simply part of the job. But sometimes, I wish for someone to see me bent over, retrieving crayons from the dog bowl, and say, “You’re doing a great job with the details, Mom.” Or perhaps, “I saw you fold that blanket six times today. You’re a superstar.”
Some might see these thoughts as mere whining. They might say, “Toughen up, that’s what you signed up for as a stay-at-home mom with little ones.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe a sprinkle of Mary Poppins magic would do me good. But it’s hard to channel that spirit when I’m extracting a Lego fragment from my dog’s paw. It’s not that these tasks are particularly dreadful; it’s that my family seems oblivious to my efforts or assumes I’ll handle everything. Neither scenario is particularly satisfying.
I hang up the hand towels in the bathroom, take out the trash, not just from the kitchen but from all over the house. I lay out the kids’ outfits, right down to their pajamas and underwear, ensuring they’re the right size. I choose their shoes and hats (because they sunburn easily). After our family gets sick, I put the medicine away. Twice a year, I sort through the medicine cabinet to check for expired items and make a list of what we need. I ensure the kids have sunscreen and their favorite snacks. Yet, all these efforts remain unseen. Most of my day consists of unnoticed labor, leaving me to ponder: Is this what motherhood means? Is this what love looks like? Because, honestly, this part can be incredibly frustrating.
I attempted to share these feelings with my husband. He seemed to get it, suggesting I shouldn’t let clutter bother me. I explained that the mess affects me because I’m the one who has to clean it. He advised me to practice saying, “Not my mess,” and to make the kids responsible. So, I try, and it helps a little. But I worry about unfairly burdening my oldest, which brings on a different guilt.
And so, I continue folding, picking up tiny toys, arranging pillows, and putting away pens. I wait for someone, anyone, to recognize my efforts.
For more insights on family life and home management, check out our related post on an at-home insemination kit or read about the differences in pregnancy tests at Pink vs. Blue Dye. For a comprehensive resource on pregnancy, visit Healthline.
In summary, motherhood can often feel like a series of unseen tasks that go unnoticed. It can be disheartening when the little things, which add up to a lot, receive no recognition. The daily grind of parenting often leaves mothers feeling taken for granted. Yet, the hope is for a little acknowledgment to go a long way in making those efforts feel valued.