Motherhood, while filled with love and joy, often feels like a thankless endeavor. When else is it deemed acceptable to be summoned only when a child requires a diaper change, only to receive no acknowledgment for your efforts? Just last week, after dropping off my son Max at school, I had to rush back home to retrieve his soccer cleats. Did I receive a thank-you? Absolutely not—instead, I was met with complaints about missing his favorite socks.
Reflecting on my college days, I recall how I always expressed gratitude when my clean, neatly folded laundry was returned to me. My kids, however, seem to believe that their clothes magically appear, organized in their drawers while they sleep. Oh, if only that were true!
When it comes to dinner time, I’m met with eye rolls instead of appreciation, and if I dare to run out of their favorite snacks? Well, that’s a whole other issue. Even when I do stock the pantry, how often do I hear a simple “thank you”? The answer is a resounding no.
Of course, I take on these responsibilities because I love my children, and caring for them—diapers and all—is part of the commitment I made. Yet, a heartfelt “thank you for everything, Mom” would be a lovely bonus every now and then.
That’s why, once I embraced motherhood, Thanksgiving became my favorite holiday. It’s a day to reflect on what I’m thankful for and, ideally, to receive some gratitude in return. Unlike the overly sentimental nature of Mother’s Day or the messy breakfasts in bed, Thanksgiving offers a genuine opportunity for appreciation. Just one day a year to be celebrated by my three greatest joys—what could be better?
Unfortunately, things don’t always go as planned. A few years ago, I asked my kids what they were thankful for, hoping for some sweet responses. “Poop,” exclaimed Leo, with great enthusiasm. Seriously? That was strike one. Thankfully, I have three children.
“Eating ice cream,” chimed in Ava next. Ice cream? Not today, kiddo. Then there was Mia, who paused thoughtfully—this was my moment. She was about to redeem my faith in their gratitude. “Daddy,” she finally said. Daddy? Really? The guy who was napping on the couch while I prepared the meal? DADDY? He didn’t carry you or endure sleepless nights because of you!
“That’s nice,” I managed to respond. “What about me?”
“Of course, you,” she replied, but only after Daddy, ice cream, and poop. Ah, the joys of motherhood!
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In summary, while the journey of motherhood can often feel unappreciated, it is also filled with moments of love and joy. A little acknowledgment goes a long way in making this role even more rewarding.