The Real Value of Daily Chores

On a random Wednesday last month, I was doing the same thing I always seem to be doing on a school night: simultaneously cleaning up the dinner dishes, supervising showers, labeling snacks for the next day, and checking homework. At one point, I actually felt like I was having an out of body experience. It was the same chaos, the same chores, every night – and I had no idea how to stop it. That evening, it actually made me cry.

After the kids went to bed that night, in the hour or two that I had before I would (hopefully) get to bed myself, I thought a lot about my current days as a mom, doing the same thing, over and over, day after day. It was a relentless battle to try and prepare to get ahead; there were always more chores and work to do than time in the day. The financial and professional sacrifices were enormous. The personal sacrifices made my head spin. When had I suddenly become grateful just to use the bathroom, alone, in peace? My standards for happiness, success, and sanity had completely disappeared.

I knew I was not alone in feeling this way, but for the first time since I had kids, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was living in an episode of Groundhog Day with no way out. I became obsessed with this frustration, believing that every responsibility I had as a mom was a menial, thankless task that was expected to be completed by my pint-sized bosses. The requests came like rapid fire: Did I pack the right juice box? Did I remember to wash the karate uniform? Why wasn’t there any pudding left . . . did I forget to go shopping?

My kids aren’t particularly demanding – they are just typical kids trying to navigate the big world around them with mom’s help. But despite (or because of?) my 20 years of education and resultant professional career, I began to feel as if my job as a mom was sometimes a worthless, joyless endeavor with no sense of achievement or validation. What was the end game here? And why did it always seem as if the more I did the more I had to do? I felt as if I was on a hamster wheel, running and running, but getting nowhere.

I know some moms take pleasure in these daily chores, like making dinner and shuffling the kids to their activities. But, for me, I sometimes find greater joy and a more significant sense of accomplishment in a successful contract negotiation. And thoughts such as these make me wonder if I’m a bad person – or worse – a bad mother. The feelings of guilt for not always finding happiness and reward in my maternal duties are overwhelming.

I often wonder if my kids can tell when I’m thinking about a document I’m writing for a client when I should be paying more attention to the fact that I accidentally switched their lunches around. . . . again. Am I causing irreversible damage to them by being honest with myself about my inability to believe that being a mom is the only fulfillment of my purpose on this earth?

These feelings of guilt do not abate as I contemplate the women out there who are unable to have children, and worse, those that have lost their children to untimely deaths. I am quite sure they would find extraordinary joy in performing every single daily task necessary for their babies. And I am so incredibly grateful for my children. I could not imagine life without them. But that gratitude does not make the chaotic homework-activities-chores-dinner-bath-bedtime-pack for the next day daily vortex any easier. At least not for me.

My own mother, sensing my struggle with the demands of motherhood, tried to give me her perspective, having raised two grown daughters herself. She reminded me that these daily tasks, the unending grind of wiping behinds and sharpening pencils, all contribute to helping our children grow into well-rounded, stable adults who will become productive members of society. Yes, I agreed with her that that is the overarching goal, but I still have trouble seeing the forest for the (very dense) trees on a daily basis.

I don’t know if other moms would readily admit to each other that they don’t find joy and happiness in the menial chores that make up much of our daily existence. While I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I don’t completely love my domestic maternal duties, it would be a greater transgression to lie about it. And so I refuse to sugarcoat the reality of motherhood: it is really, really hard to be a good mother. And some of the time, it’s not fun or rewarding. In fact, there are many times that it seems to be a thankless, unappreciated job.

The Wednesday night that I had sharply felt the stab of my maternal responsibility and resultant guilt, my three year old daughter found me in the kitchen, crying over the next day’s lunches. She put her hand on my leg and said, “Mama, I love you. You’re the best!” And then she skipped away, happily, having no idea what her unconditional love did for me at that moment. My son soon meandered over, and silently hugged me from behind. No questions asked.

I wondered, through my tears, what I had done to deserve such unconditional love and support from both my children. It occurred to me, later, that packing the right juice box and washing the karate uniform were, to them, among the most important things I could do for them as a mother. To them, these jobs I viewed as menial and taxing were vital and life-sustaining. To them, I was accomplished and appreciated. In my children’s eyes, my role was not insignificant – it was vital and essential to them both.

Looking at myself through my children’s eyes has helped me considerably in modifying my perception of my maternal role. Each time I get frustrated about the hundreds of menial tasks I need to accomplish in a single day, I remember that my chores are a critical component to my children’s happiness and survival.

Yes, I still struggle with finding joy in scrubbing caked syrup off the table. And I still sometimes get jealous of my childless friends’ freedom. But I’ve slowly managed to stop thinking of myself as an invisible, unimportant person just because I sometimes spend more of my day doing domestic chores than professional ones. My kids continually give me unconditional love, believing wholeheartedly that I am vital and important. That, in itself, is quite an accomplishment.

* This article originally appeared on The Mommy Vortex.