A Mother’s Work…

a-mothers-work-dishes-kitchen-boy-illustration-thefamilylife-family-thumbnail-work

A mother at a kitchen sink,

teaching a wee-whisker of a lad how to wash up some dishes.

Truly.

THE giant job… that never ends.

(Or, one of them that doesn’t end. Laundry being another.)

This is what I thought I was drawing.

But as I was finishing the colors on this’n…

I thought to myself,

Huh.”

“Well.  I’ll be durned. It actually looks like the wee-whisker is the one doing the teaching here.”

Or at the very least, he’s doing a LOT of explaining.

Either that or he was trying to get his 60th drink of the day,

but couldn’t clamber up and over that dish pile to get to the faucet.

Regardless…this drawing got me to thinking about motherhood*….and the work that it entails.

I can’t even count how many times I’ve heard,

“It’s  HARD work being a mom.”

“You’ve got your work cut out for you!”

“Motherhood. Now, that’s a TOUGH job.”

And even

“How do you do it? You’ve got 5. I can barely manage the one!”

I think what bothers me most about comments like these,

Is that I start to believe them.

I start giving myself permission to mutter and complain about my life as it is.

It almost seems, for myself, that the more I began to dwell on the thought that “this IS indeed hard work!”

The harder it becomes.

Pretty soon, I began to feel like Eeyore the donkey.

My life is SOOOO hard!

This job is SO haaarrrd.

NOOObody appreciates me.

NOObody understands.

I’ve got noooooooooo time for ME!

None of that is true.

None of it.

Fer cryin’ out loud!

I honestly don’t have the foggiest idea, of what  HARD work truly is.

When I really stop myself for minute…

…to think, that there are real mothers, in faraway places, that have to watch their babies starve to death…

Whilst me, myself and I…mutter and complain because I have to push a grocery cart around every week, gathering up frozen pizzas and waffles.

Those same mothers have to watch their children suffer with disease…

And here I am, feeling crabby and impatient when I have to wait an hour at the clinic to get the toddler’s throat swabbed for strep.

There IS a mom out there, that has to wake herself up at 3 AM to scratch around in the dirt for some grub….

All the while, I’m over here grumbling and groaning about getting up at 7 o’clock to pour the children some breakfast from a box.

I’ve never had to wash my clothes by hand.

Aside from the occasional silk blouse….

I’ve never had to haul the drinking and the wash water over hill and dale.

BUT, I have complained about how much I have to pay for that hot water, which comes gushing out, at 40 gallons per minute, from my shiny kitchen faucet.

I’ve never had to painfully labor with child ALL alone, but I have squallered at the husband to “get me some Tylenol with Codine…and for #!#@! sake be quick about it!” Followed by “You’d better be glad this ain’t YOU!” (As. If.)

I suppose that motherhood IS harder than loafing on a lounger in Cabo.

But after week number 3 of that, I’ll bet that getting myself up to use the potty would be some heart pounding, HARD and gruel-some work.

So.

Despite the fact that I often have to wrestle with dirty dishes…

and sweep the floor again and again and yet again

Today I can see that….I am super-duper lucky.

Because, a hard life

isn’t something that I have.

It almost seems like, it boils down to a very simple thing.

If you believe you’ve got a hard life…

A hard life, is what you’re gonna have.

If you believe you’ve got a good life…

A good life, is what you’re gonna have.

….

*same thoughts apply to fatherhood.

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