Growing up in a small town has its advantages. Every Sunday, my family would attend Mass followed by lunch with our aunts, uncles and cousins at our grandparents’ house.

At the time, I didn’t think much about who was cooking all that food. That chore fell to my grandmother, Albedia, who cooked enough Lebanese food to feed at least 20 people every single Sunday.

She never asked for help nor did she complain. I took her hours in the kitchen for granted all those Sundays.

I carried that oversight with my mother. She worked outside the home when we moved to Louisiana. There were seven children in our house, but Mom never made us feel like we were second to her job.

She left the office promptly at 4:15 p.m., was home no later than 4:35 p.m. and had a hot dinner on the table by 6 p.m. No fast-food pizzas or burgers.

We had home-cooked meals every night, including a dessert. Plus, she did all the shopping, from food to shoes, for everyone in the family.

On Sundays, Mom would pop a roast into the oven before we left for Mass. Dinner after church was mandatory – we did not miss sitting down as a family on Sundays.

It never occurred to me that Mom might be tired or need a break. A few years ago, I asked how she managed everything, and she said she didn’t think about it.

“I did what needed to be done,” she said.

Moms are some of the most underappreciated and least thanked people on the planet.

It’s not just at home where we take moms for granted. We expect women to leave their personal life behind when they enter the work force.

They’re supposed to give 100 percent at work and 100 percent at home. Sooner or later, something has to give, and that’s usually personal time for mom.

There’s so much that goes on in a child’s life that it’s a constant balancing act to keep all those plates in motion.

Because of social media, women often compare themselves to mothers whose homes look like something out of “House Beautiful.”

They see women exercising while cooking natural foods, turning trash into treasures and painting murals on their child’s walls.

My house was messy, the closest natural foods I had were apples from the grocery store and the only murals on the walls were when the boys found the markers.

Once children enter school, the workload doubles. There’s notes to teachers, forms to fill out, field trips that need chaperones, summer activities that require deposits and ensuring you have all the pre-requisites completed.

With social media, moms have to constantly monitor their child’s online activities.

Throw in schools with dress-up days requiring parents to make sure they have cowboy hats and boots, sequins, crazy socks, T-shirts in every color of the Crayola box and let’s not forget pajama day at least once a month.

Enough already.

Here’s a salute to all those moms who are driving carpool and creating dioramas out of pipe cleaners and castles out of empty toilet paper rolls.

Here’s to the mom who’s running to the store at 9 p.m. because her child forgot to tell her it’s “anything-but-a-backpack” day and she has to find something for her child to take his books to school in the next day.

Here’s to the mom who loves with all her heart, worries with all her soul and beams with pride when her child shines.

If no one’s told you this recently, Mom, you are appreciated.

You are loved.

Happy Mother’s Day!

 

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.