The Sweetest Mother's Day Gift!

I have a horrible habit that I really need to drop. I’ve noticed other mothers have this bad habit too. The problem is rampant really, especially among stay-at-home moms: it’s the need to justify what we do.

When my husband comes home from work, almost immediately, I rattle off a list of all the tasks I completed in his absence.

This is what our house sounds like, daily, around 5:30 p.m.:

(Husband opens the front door.)

Me: “Hi babe! How was your day? I know you probably can’t tell, but I really did clean the entire downstairs, I loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, I took the boys to the playground. Oh and I changed the sheets because the baby peed our bed last night.”

My husband: “Ummm, great . . . Hi, honey. How are you?”

Why do I feel the need to give an account of my work for the day? My husband is neither my boss nor my taskmaster. I know for a fact that he doesn’t look at the chaos in our house (because, with three young boys, it’s always chaos) and think, “What did she do all day?” He’s told me as much, many times.

It’s even more ridiculous when I try to imagine this scenario in reverse, expecting my husband to report to me, for my approval, every activity in his work day: how many emails he returned, which spreadsheets he created, what presentations he gave. Yet, I can’t help myself. I feel compelled to justify my work.

Or perhaps, I feel compelled to justify my worth.

I’ve spent a lot of time pondering why I feel this way and I think it’s because I have always been an achiever. I’m wired in all the stereotypical, Type-A, people-pleasing ways a person can be wired. Academically and professionally, there’s never really been something that I’ve put my mind to that I haven’t been able to accomplish.

Then I became a mom.

Now, I experience failure daily. I get cranky. I lose my temper. I miss countless opportunities to give grace and show patience. Some mornings, I come face-to-face with my own shortcomings before my feet have even hit the floor. Never have I been more aware of my inadequacies than I am now, as a mom.

I pour into my kids constantly, but at the end of the day, there is often very little tangible proof of my efforts. I might clean non-stop, but it’s like shoveling with a spoon in a snowstorm. I might prepare food all day, but there’s few leftovers when you’re feeding a pack of hungry wolves. I might lovingly encourage and correct behavior, but the tantrums still come, again and again.

Whether I do a “good job” at home or not, the appearance to an outsider could be the same on any given day.

But mamas, it’s not the same.

The important work we do as mothers will bear fruit. The timeframe may not be what we’d like (in fact, I can almost guarantee that it won’t), but weeks, months, or years later, there will be proof of our efforts. One of my favorite Bible verses is Galatians 6:9, and it is such a perfect mantra for parenthood. It says, “Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

In this intensive phase of mothering, when the house regularly looks like a tornado blew through it, when much of what we do is barely visible, don’t become weary (at least not in spirit; some physical weariness in this phase is probably unavoidable). Keep doing the good, hard work, so that we can reap the harvest at the proper time.

In the meantime, let’s stop trying to validate our worth to others. Let’s just know it, confidently, for ourselves.

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Charissa West

Charissa West is a high school classroom teacher turned stay-at-home, work-at-home mother. When she is not busy chasing around her three young sons, she works as an online teacher and freelance writer. She shares her honest, sarcastic, hilarious thoughts on parenting on her blog, The Wild, Wild West, with the goal of helping moms laugh at anything motherhood may throw at them.

Soon There Will Be No More Breakfasts To Make

In: Grown Children, Motherhood, Teen
Ten boy eating breakfast at kitchen counter

T-minus 44 days until a new beginning- Math has never been my strong suit or my favorite subject, but it will be about 19 years spent rising and trying to shine in our house. Nineteen years of prepping one, two, or all three of our sons to get up and ready for school. Nineteen years of making breakfast. Nineteen years of making lunches. For those of you in the thick of it right now, you know exactly what I mean. I think my husband Steve and I have it down to a science now. If we had to do it...

Keep Reading

I’m Going to Tell You the Things Your Mom Should Have Told You

In: Living, Motherhood
Mother with three grown daughters

During my oldest daughter’s freshman year of college, I started being haunted by a recurring dream of an old-fashioned suitcase—one of those hard-sided ones that’s as big as they come. In the dream, when I open the suitcase, it’s overflowing with clothing, shoes, and all kinds of stuff that belongs to me and each of my three daughters. Everything in the suitcase is all jumbled together. Nobody else in the dream is worried about sorting through everything, but I am totally stressed about it. To top it all off, I have to deal with this suitcase while preparing for a...

Keep Reading

The Half-Dressed Mom and Love in the Details

In: Motherhood
Woman sitting with coffee cup and book on bed

I am a proper mom. Not fancy, not prim—practical. I am dressed for the time of day, always. That is simply who I am. Except for this morning. This morning I was in a towel, bracing the bathroom counter, writhing in pain, and trying not to scream loud enough to disturb the neighbors. I had seen a specialist just the day before. He’d said I needed six weeks to heal before they could do further exploration. What he hadn’t said—what I hadn’t understood—was how much the healing itself would hurt. My 23-year-old daughter, Aislyn, found me like that. Panicked. Half-dressed....

Keep Reading

Mommy, Will You Play With Me?

In: Kids, Motherhood
Boy sitting in middle of toys smiling

With four kids at three different schools, our days are full. Between sports practices, music lessons, clubs, rehearsals, games, meets, and playdates, it feels like we’re constantly heading somewhere. I love that my children are involved in activities, but occasionally, it’s nice to have some downtime. When I get a text or email that a practice has been canceled, it’s usually a huge relief. Last week, after-school sports were cancelled due to heavy rain. When I picked up my youngest son from school, I told him we’d be going straight home for the rest of the afternoon. He looked surprised....

Keep Reading

Could We Take a Page from the ’80s and Stop Overparenting?

In: Kids, Motherhood

I have a confession: Yesterday I let my 11-year-old play with fire. Like literally. We live in the country, there is still wet snow on the ground, and he’s done it with his dad at least 20 times. But yesterday was the fifth consecutive day of no school, and probably the twentieth consecutive day of him asking to have a small fire without dad. Part of me did it out of laziness. Part of me did it out of selfishness. And part of me did it out of nostalgia. Here’s the thing—when I was 11, I was already babysitting (like...

Keep Reading

God Carries Me Through the Deep Waters of Change

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman at the beach as waves come in

“Ahhh!” My underwater scream garbled in my snorkel tube as the manta ray’s cavernous mouth swept a hand’s distance from my face. My fingers tightened around the surfboard until my knuckles ached. My arms trembled. I jerked my head side to side, searching for my daughters, Mia and Megan. Recent college graduates, they had joined me on one last mother-daughter vacation before launching their adult lives. They floated easily on the vibrant Hawaiian water, relaxed, trusting. I wanted to borrow their calm. Earlier, our guide had explained that the LED lights built into the surfboard attracted plankton the way college...

Keep Reading

Faith After a Rare Disease Diagnosis

In: Faith, Motherhood
Family smiling in posed photo

My pastor frequently speaks of “kid pain” and acknowledges there’s nothing like it. I can testify to that. After nine months of uncertainty and unexplained issues following the birth of our now 4-year-old daughter, Harlow, we finally received her diagnosis of Pyruvate Dehydrogenase Complex Deficiency (PDCD), a life-limiting mitochondrial disease with no cure and no FDA-approved treatments. It was heartbreaking. In moments like these, a parent can fall into complete desperation. You go through a range of emotions almost too fast to name: fear for your child’s life; anxiousness about how much time you’ll get with them; overwhelming grief. And...

Keep Reading

Good Mothers Bake from Scratch, and Other Lies I’ve Believed

In: Motherhood
Smiling women in selfie outside

I am standing at the kitchen counter, spooning banana mix into a muffin tin, when my daughter makes a proposal. “How about dis . . . ?” Presley begins, pausing for dramatic effect. “How about I put four chocolate chips on each muffin because dat’s how old I am?” I smile at her logic. Once every pink polka-dotted liner is filled with batter and topped with exactly four chocolate chips, I place both tins on the middle rack and set a timer. Presley runs out of the room and returns with her plastic step stool, placing it directly in front...

Keep Reading

My ‘Dusty Son’ is 5

In: Living, Motherhood
Little boy holding out dandelion bouquet

As moms, we categorize everything. Girl mom. Boy mom. Wine mom. Outdoor mom. Farm mom. City mom. Now there’s been an uptick in social media trends about exposing our girls to worldly and fancy experiences so someday they’re “not impressed by your dusty son.” I won the parenting jackpot (in my humble opinion) and have an older daughter and a younger son. He’s five. Not a grown man making real-world decisions. Not a college kid learning how to adult. He’s five. He loves dinosaurs and Mario. His big sissy and his Great Dane. He is incapable of cruelty and is...

Keep Reading

These Little Moments Are Everything

In: Motherhood
Mother embracing young child who is kissing her cheek

I almost missed it, my little one. How your eyebrows lift in quiet concentration as you carefully place each block, adding a new wall to your tiger castle. The way you say “scoop over, mom” and shuffle closer to me until our legs touch. “Just one second, bud.” The mantra of all busy moms. I almost missed your blonde hair flying wild as you bounce on the trampoline, that belly laugh that makes the whole world feel soft. I almost missed it. How you close your eyes as you crack the biggest, cheekiest smile when I tickle your belly, giggling...

Keep Reading