A Mother’s Presence: Encouragement to the Stay-At-Home-Mom

Days spent staying at home, running a household and raising small children can often seem wearisome. It can feel like every day starts looking the same and the temptation to complain and despair can be right around every corner. This is a small glimpse from my childhood that I hope can encourage the weary mother out there. Your presence matters to your children. Day to day, yes. But more importantly, they will remember the moments that make up these days. And those moments will shape them as adults.

Magical Moments

My mom stayed home with us my entire childhood. I can’t recall one memory that doesn’t have my mom somehow intertwined. She was super mom in my eyes–maker of the magic in our home. Of course now that I’m a mother, I realize that she wasn’t actually super mom and was probably just flying by the seat of her pants most days, trying to survive and create a meaningful life for her kids. And I realize that there probably weren’t as many magical moments as I remember. But what I remember is her playing baby dolls with me, her being my “student” while I played teacher, endless hours of her volunteering in my elementary school classroom, her coming to have school lunch with me on Fridays, really special birthday suppers, girls’ nights outs, and many road trips to visit grandparents. 

As a mom, I’m encouraged by this. I’m encouraged because I know all these memories were actually just a small portion of our lives. Yet they are what take up the most space in my heart. Does that make sense? Most of our days growing up were just normal, mundane days. We ate breakfast, went to school, did homework, ate supper, etc. There were plenty of sibling squabbles, disappointments, discipline problems, and bad attitudes. I’m sure my mom often felt frazzled and wondered if she was making a difference at all. Was it worth it to stay home? Were her kids going to turn out okay? Could she be doing something more…useful?

Magic or not, she was there.

But I think the point is–she was there. We didn’t actually play with baby dolls every day. But that’s what I remember. She didn’t actually cook special meals all the time, but it seems like she did. She probably didn’t volunteer in my school classroom as often as I remember. But she was there. She was present. Day in and day out. Every mundane day after the other. She was there. 

And I pray that’s what my kids remember too. 

Some days I feel like such a failure, trying to juggle so many moving parts for our family. I feel like things (or people) are falling through the cracks. We don’t have as many tea parties or dance parties or special adventures as I thought we would. Sometimes I fear that my kids are going to remember their mom being frazzled and overwhelmed all the time. Sometimes I fear they are going to resent having a big family and I fear they are going to resent me. It’s one of my biggest fears, actually. 

Presence means Something.

But God has gently reminded me that my presence in their lives means something. And I pray that when they look back on their childhood, they will at least remember that their mom was there. Day in and day out. Every mundane day after the other. She was there. 

And I pray that means something to them. I trust it will.