Great Mothers are Made on Ordinary Days

Recently, I took a walk with my two-year-old son. He stopped every few minutes to pick up rocks. After about fifteen minutes of this, his hands were too full and he began to drop some of his rocks. He looked up at me and said, “Help me, mama.” I was already holding the stuffed giraffe he affectionately named “Pizza” and the coat we brought that he decided he did not want to wear. “My hands are full, buddy, you will have to give something up,” I responded carefully expecting a toddler-sized melt down. Much to my surprise, he did not fuss at all; instead he simply chose a few small rocks to toss away to make room for the new ones. Immediately I learned a new lesson from my little boy and my mind was flooded with thoughts. 

Motherhood can become like my little boy picking up rocks.

We are often overwhelmed with opportunities for our children. We hear about things we should do, places we should take them or activities we should involve them in. We pick up an activity here and there, and before you know it our hands — and schedules — are overflowing. We can easily fall into a trap of believing that the busier our children are, the more successful parents we are. What I learned from my boy is that when we try to do too much, carry too many rocks, that some of the rocks begin to fall. We become frustrated that we cannot hold them all and when we look for help we often find someone who already has their own hands full. 

I began to recall some of my favorite childhood memories and tried to place my mother in them and I was surprised by what I realized. Most of my sweetest memories are just ordinary days. In my mind’s eye I can see my mother folding laundry while I read a book, I can see her sweeping the porch while I ran through the sprinklers, I can see her ironing clothes while I watched my favorite shows and I can see her cooking dinner while I did my homework. It is the ordinary work of an ordinary life that speak of love and security. It’s not the vacations or the activities we did, of course they were fun, but they aren’t the moments that define my childhood.  

I learned more about life on the ordinary days that I did on the extraordinary days.

That is the kind of life I want to build for my own children. I want to be certain that my hands are not so full of things to do that I miss the opportunity to do the things that matter. Even a child can become overwhelmed by running from one thing to the next day after day. They aren’t capable of keeping up and they will begin to let something fall. We have to be intentional about to what we decide to commit our days. That certainly doesn’t mean we cannot do anything, but it does mean we cannot do everything. 

By the time my son and I finished our walk, he had thrown all of his rocks back into the grass, and with newly emptied hands he reached up and grabbed me. And that hug, it was worth dropping everything.