On Invisibility

Have you seen The Invisible Woman by Nicole Johnson on YouTube? I'm trying to embed it below (ahhh...BLOGGER!); click here to watch it at YouTube.

This video has been sent to me by many people; I finally had time to view it.

I'm glad I did. I was moved by her speech and I agree that the work we do as Mothers is work we do for Him, aka, The Boss.

Mothering is a thankless job, one that requires checking your pride at the door from the first moment you find yourself barfing in public when a fit of morning/afternoon/anytime sickness hits you so fast that you can't make it to the nearest restroom. Pride evaporates once you've drawn a crowd of rubber-necking grocery cart pushers clogging the store's main aisle- dude, she puked on her shoes!

Oh yes I did.

But there is one point in this video clip, one line she utters near the end, that has stuck to the side of my brain and worried itself deep into my consciousness.

When talking about all we do as mothers, all the hard work that no one sees but Him, (aka, The Boss), she says she wants her son to want to come home from college to visit (at Thanksgiving, I'm assuming); then she says this:

It's ok that they don't see.

And this is the line that's been echoing in my head over the past days.

Allow me to put aside the rest of her speech (very good and again, I do agree we mommyfolk do God's work) and veer off on this tangent by asking you this:

Is it?

Is it ok for our children -and particularly our daughters - to be oblivious to our sacrifices as mothers?

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When Prince Tatertot came along, Knute and I still lived in Illinois. In a very nice small town in Illinois where we met all sorts of wonderful folks.

The only problem with that wonderful town where my first two children were born was that none of our family lived there. They all happened to be concentrated in south-west Ohio, exactly where we wanted to be.

Prince Tatertot's first year is a blur to me, a blur of dueling babies (Princess Pinky is only twenty-one months older than Prince Tatertot), a blur of Mom's Group meetings at our church (and thank God for those fine women; they saved me more than they know), and a blur of long, repeated, and often tinged-with-despair conversations between Knute and me on the likelihood of finding our way back to the Heart of It All.

I came to a point where I had an epiphany of sorts. No matter what my personal frustrations might be, no matter how small the chance seemed that we might ever raise our children in the place we thought of as home, no matter how exhausted, overwhelmed, or inept at mothering I might feel, I was still Mommy.

And Mommy was the center of my two children's universe.

It's easy to forget that simple fact in the modern world in which we live. A world that says you should still be find ways to be you after you become Mommy! (I agree.) That you deserve time alone away from those tiny tots every once in a while! (I totally agree.)

Good luck explaining those two abstracts to a tiny child - to your tiny child.

No matter how exhausted, overwhelmed, and inept you may feel, in that wee babe's eyes, you are IT, the source of food and warmth and goodness and LOVE.

After my epiphany, I created a little mantra for myself. One that I found myself whispering over and over again when chaos reigned as two babies screamed and clung to me while I peered at the clock, wishing my dear Knute home just one minute sooner.

I whispered this:

I will be an oasis of peace, love, and goodness for my family.

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Creating an oasis of peace in this world is no easy task.

But I try; I really do.

I pray, alone and with my family. I stay up way too late, blogging here and there for a bit before I get everything ready for the busy morning.

I check homework, always seeking words of encouragement rather than error. I log miles driving to and from schools, doctor appointments, sports, and interludes of just plain fun.

I kiss them goodnight twice; the first time is for them, half-asleep and drifting into sleepy town. The second time is for me, Mommy, who simply cannot lay my head down to rest until I know they're safe and sound in their beds.

And then there is the housework and the laundry and the cooking. The insane canine wrangling and the yard work and the grocery-getting. The volunteering and the budgeting and the splurging on ice cream for everyone just because.

Through it all, I try to be that oasis of peace. A voice of loving guidance. A place of acceptance, no matter what.

It's the hardest job on the planet.

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I came of age in the 80's, watched Sally Ride shoot to the stars, and saw Sandra Day O'Connor take her seat on the highest bench in the land.

Heady times to be a thirteen-year-old girl who worked hard and excelled academically at her studies.

Over and over again, I heard the message from strong female teachers and role models and the media that my generation of girls could have it ALL.

We could go to college and get high-paying jobs.

We could fall in love and get married.

We could have children.

We could still be me, and not just Mommy.

And we could have it ALL AT ONCE - no barriers, no boundaries - with nothing but blue sky above us waiting for our ascent.

There would be equal pay for equal work.

And good, loving, affordable childcare.

And employers who understood we had families who needed us more than work did.

And supportive husbands.

And fulfilling marriages.

And friendships with other women that supported our having-it-all lives.

Oh, and of course we'd still have time to care for ourselves in mind, body, and spirit.

Of course we would.

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I do what I do as Mommy because that is what Mommy is, at least, to me: an oasis of love in this oft cold-shouldered world.

But love, while patient and kind, should never obscure the truth.

I don't want my children bowing down at my feet, praising every stray special toy I locate in the blink of an eye or the miracle that is a hot dinner at 5:30 pm every day.

I do want my children to know that parenting well is the most difficult task they will ever face.

And for my daughter, I want and need to teach her that choosing to be Mommy will mean choosing a life of giving, of sacrificing, and of loving - even when those you love are at their most unlovable.

We as Mommy shouldn't believe that our job is to create an oasis of smiling perfection in every moment.

Create instead an oasis of peace, love, and goodness.

And remember to extend the invitation of loving forgiveness to yourself, too.

WM