I get no respect. ;)
Seriously. And usually I'm OK with that, but sometimes it stings!
Now, I don't mean that my children don't respect me in the discipline sense of the word - no, they are, for the most part, very respectful with their nice Southern manners.
I mean that I am so taken for granted that I feel like I may as well be furniture at times! My children *worship* my husband - he can do no wrong and the slightest positive thing he does is remembered for ever and always. [And he is a very fun, nice, wonderful dad, so I'll give credit where credit is due there]. But me - every thing I do is taken for granted and forgotten....
For example: I have read to my children pretty much every day of their lives that we were home [maybe not on all day trips to the zoo or something, but definitely on every "normal" day]. I often spend well over an hour reading aloud to my children on any given day. And I have done this since before my oldest child was big enough to *hold* a book... LOL!
About a year ago, we stopped the "bedtime stories". Until then, I had read to them extensively before bedtime each night - I read the whole Laura Ingals Wilder series to them this way, Anne of Green Gables, etc. We stopped last year because it was making bedtime too stressful with the little bitties going nuts while I was trying to read. So, now I do their read aloud in the afternoons, yet still it happens almost every day.
So, last night my oldest child says "I wish we could go back to having bedtime stories. Daddy used to read to us every single night before bed." I almost choked. I said "What?! What do you mean?" and she replied "You know, Daddy read us the whole Laura Ingals Wilder series, and Anne of Green Gables, and all kinds of stuff! He used to read to us every single night!".
Now, this is so far from the truth that I just wanted to scream. My husband was sitting there and he looked at me and then looked at her and said "That's not true at all! *I* never read those books to you!". To which his daughter adoringly replied "Yes you did Daddy, don't you remember?". To which *I* replied "NO, *I* read all those books to you, not your daddy!". To which He replied "Yeah, I read maybe 5 chapters to you out of that whole Laura Ingals Wilder series - your mom read all the rest!". [And he did - he read to them a few times on nights I worked].
She had no memory of this - she does not remember that I read these books to her. In her mind, her daddy did it. I'm just "mom" that cooks, cleans, wipes up puke, and takes care of kids who are up all night.
I found it very disheartening. She does the same thing about homeschool - I spend hours every day teaching her and helping her and her dad does about 2 science experiments a year with her - if that - and if you ask her what is great about homeschooling she will say "Daddy does science with us". [In reality, Mama does science with them and once in a blue moon daddy does something with it]. If someone tells her she's smart and asks her where she learned something, she will say "Daddy taught me", when, in reality, it was *I* who spent months pulling my hair out to teach her that thing...
I try to take this in stride. I know that one of the reasons I am taken so much for granted is that I am the *reliable* one - the one that they can count on to do everything the way they count on the air that they breathe. [Nobody stops to thank the air for letting us breathe it. LOL!]. I know this, and I am GLAD that I am the kind of mother that *can* be counted on like that and taken for granted. I am also the "enforcer" in our household - de facto if not by design because of their dad's periods of instability. I get to be "bad cop" all the time, what fun.
And I know that their dad is funny and makes them laugh and is exciting. I like him too. :)
But I sometimes wonder how the children will remember their childhoods. I think that they will really NOT remember anything I did - at least none of the good stuff. [I'm sure my daughter will remember that I am the one that wouldn't let her read evil books and wouldn't let her wear mini skirts...*sigh*] I imagine that their memories of their childhood will be something like "Wow, dad was so fun and we had a great time. And mom was just there - boring old mom."
The truth is that I have made amazing sacrifices for them and their well being - I have made *serious* personal sacrifices so that they can have the kind of childhood that they reflect back on and go "Wow, that was so awesome! Dad was so fun...." It is only because of what I have done, the work I've done, the protecting I've done, the "carrying everything on my shoulders for the whole family" that I've done that allows this. I'm not trying to brag here - this is just the truth.
And I'm realizing that none of that will be remembered, and, IF I do my job right, they will not even realize the tremendous sacrifices I had to make for their happiness.
And mostly I'm OK with that. Jesus told us to look for our reward in Heaven - that those who received their reward on Earth couldn't expect any reward in Heaven. Hopefully I'm racking up some rewards - because I could sure use those Graces to help me get there with all my sins and shortcomings.
And I feel tremendously rewarded just by the fact that my children *are* so happy in spite of less than ideal circumstances. I love to see their joy in life.
Some days however, I'd *like* to get credit for reading Little House on the Prairie.
5 comments:
You know, I think they will when they grow up. When they have kids of their own it is going to remind them of their childhood and they will relaize that you were the glue. When they bring the grandkids over there will be a new found love and respect in their eyes and they will also then see what an awesome grandma you will be too!
Or so, I hope. Those are my plans anyway, lol.
You are an amazing mom! YOU are the one person that they totally trust and need in their lives. How cool is that? I'm an online friend who totally admires (and is in awe of) all that you do so well. Your children are lucky that they are raised with so much thoughtful care and love.
Can you hang up your supermom cape for a long afternoon and let their dad take ALL of them away so you can pamper yourself?
Hi Kelly, You might have heard this before, but someone passed this along to our homeschooling group:
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"
Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She's going - she's going - she's gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in.
I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this."
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."
In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
* No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it." And the workman replied, "Because God sees."
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.
The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, "You're gonna love it there."
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Mira idolizes her dad, and I think it has a lot to do with the fact that she knows he can go away. It's almost like she thinks she has to love him extra. That combined with the fact that he does so very little it makes the tiniest thing he does do look like a bright, shiny star.
It does get tiresome sometimes, but I'm the one they want to cuddle up next to at night or when they're sad or hurt. I'm also the one who gets to be there for all the little moments with them.
You know, I cook three meals a day for these kids from scratch. Last night I was attempting to make this Indian crepe (after I'd already fed them dinner...I was just experimenting), and I said I couldn't do it very well. Mira said "Well, Dad knows how." Ugh. It's the one and only thing he can cook for them that they can actually eat.
Ryan already sees the real score. In a way it makes me sad for him.
Anyhoo...about you...I feel your pain. Words of comfort and all that. ; ) You're awesome, and someday they'll see it.
Yeah, but when they start having babies of their own who do you think they are going to come to? There's nothing like having your mom their after you have a baby!
And just so you know you not alone the other night John was commenting about how Kent used to have brown hair, but now it's gray and he looks alot better with gray hair. So I asked him if he thinks I'll look good with gray hair too..I got a big old definite "No!"
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