A cousin posted the sweetest story about her daughter a while back.
The four-year-old declared that her dad was a king and her mom was the cook. Sounds about right, doesn’t it?
But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Stormie O’Martian says in her book, “A Praying Wife,” that the man is the head of the household and the woman is the heart. You have to have a heart to be the servant who cooks, cleans all things you would rather leave unseen and to stay up all night with the baby. Not that dads don’t have hearts. Theirs are just in different places.
Just now, my baby was sitting with my friend and she was so fussy. She kept looking at me and is now asleep between my cheek and shoulder. It’s the most angelic feeling in the world. But only mommas understand its significance.
When it seems like our kids are angels for everyone else, we mommas get what we think are the leftovers. It’s not so. They just trust us to bring their stress to us. It’s an honor and a privilege to be the only one who calms them. Even if it can be a frustrating event to take a shower, cook dinner or make a phone call.
Being the servant of the family also means your kids don’t accept that you have a job. They think you don’t do anything all day or have needs. They think you have a crew of invisible clones that make a PB & J appear. But it’s okay.
My daughter has a belief about me that may sound a little demeaning at times, but I’m okay with it. She thinks I’m about as smart as one of the mice in Cinderella.
She actually asked me the other day if mommas were smart. She was super impressed that I was able to tell her that the TV remote was on the floor.
While these viewpoints from our children seem demeaning, they are treasures to our momma hearts. At least that’s my view.
My dear hubby gets to play the superhero role and be the strongest, smartest guy in the world. Our children have higher expectations for him than me – at least on the surface.
I’m the one who gets the pleasure of getting up when there are bad dreams and fevers to cure. I’m the one who gets to hold the molar-cutting, tantrum-throwing man cub while he cries about his sister taking away the bowl of ranch dressing.
I’m the one who gets to see the moments of discovery and cheer them on when they understand the true meaning of yuck.
I’m the one who gets to decide what our forecast will look like. Will I take the road of frustration or the road of elation? The little tyrants might try with all their might to send me into a tearful ball of nerves in the closet, but I can decide to seek the ultimate servant’s strength through prayer. I can alter the course of several hearts with my heart.
I’ll take that job despite the pay. It’s an honor and a privilege. The eternal rewards are worth it.