The Heart of It All: Motherhood Across Time and Species

Motherhood is equal parts beauty and bewilderment. You can go from "Look at this magical creature I made" to "Why is there a toothbrush in the freezer?" in about six seconds. Or—“Why did my son pack the cordless phone in his suitcase before vacation?” (I’ll explain in a second.) Some days it feels like you’re nailing it. Other days the toddler’s wiping peanut butter on the dog, someone’s melting down in the background, and someone else is crying in the bathroom (possibly you).

Okay, the phone? He was eight. We still had a landline back then—one of those cordless phones with a built-in answering machine. Unbeknownst to us, he unplugged it, tucked the whole thing in his suitcase, and brought it along. His reasoning? He didn’t want us to miss any calls while we were away. Logical, in his own way. Heartbreakingly sweet—also completely hilarious.

Somewhere in between the joy and the chaos—the little surprises, the big feelings, the moments that seemingly make no sense at all—you catch yourself wondering: Am I doing enough? Am I doing it right?  I imagine mothers have always asked those questions. But across times and places, even with that inevitable self-doubt, motherhood was honored.

Ancient Motherhood

Ancient cultures had a deep appreciation for motherhood and its place at the center of life. They built temples, told stories, and treated it like something sacred.

Motherhood was more than just a role—it was revered.

Egyptian hieroglyphic for mwt — “mother”

Motherhood in the Animal Kingdom: Different Species, Same Heart

They may look different, sound different, raise their young in wildly different places—but when it comes to the heart of it? We’re not so different after all.

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Just a few examples—but the animal world is full of moms doing what they’ve always done: nurturing, adapting, and giving it their all. It’s instinctual. It’s relentless. And more similar than we sometimes realize.

What We Carry in Motherhood

Beyond the instincts and the love, there’s the daily weight of it all—the invisible load we shoulder, the tiny things we never forget, the everything we carry. (And yes, that includes the baby. But also… everything else.)

It’s snacks. Water bottles. The last piece of gum, already promised to someone else. It’s permission slips, sunscreen, the knowledge of where the other sock probably is. It’s the names of all the kids in their class and the one kid they don’t like and why. (Pretty sure even Egyptian moms were scribbling some version of this onto papyrus scrolls—right next to the grocery list and whatever hieroglyphics meant “Don’t forget Horus’s sandals.”)

It’s guilt for yelling. Guilt for not yelling. Guilt for letting them have too much screen time so you could drink your coffee in peace. And then that special kind of guilt when you look at your own screen time and realize… yep, that’s where the day went.

It’s the full-body mental load of everything that needs to happen today, tomorrow, and by the end of third grade.

And if you’re a mom, you know that’s just the start, it’s…

We don’t all mother the same way, but we share common threads—and a hope that they’ll remember we gave it our all.

Rose & Kathie

In our family, motherhood was modeled by two women who held everything together—effortlessly, it seemed, even when life was anything but simple.

Rose, my grandmother, raised four kids and fostered fifty-one babies. She kept Penny’s wild ideas from flying off the rails (mostly), kept the house running, and still drove out to the farm each summer—hosting a revolving door of family and friends, all while keeping a watchful eye on her children. She grounded the chaos in calm. She didn’t make a show of it. She just did what needed to be done—with love, grit, and a quiet kind of grace.

And then there’s my mom, Kathie—who inherited that same steady heart, but channeled it in her own way. In her retirement, she spends time gathering little odds and ends—things she turns into gift baskets for local raffles, church drives, or families going through a tough time. She’s always giving—always finding a way to help, even if it’s just quietly dropping something off or showing up with a smile and a trunk full of carefully collected treasures. She doesn’t do it for credit. She just does it because that’s who she is.

Rose and Kathie, snuggled up on the couch. Just a mom and her girl.

What Will My Kids Remember?

Our summers out at the farm are a gift—but they’ve never been restful. Between running a business and keeping them entertained, it’s a juggling act. And truthfully, I wouldn’t know what to do with a restful day anyway. I’ve got Penny’s tinkering gene—always dreaming something up, fixing this, painting that, turning free time into a new project.

The days were long when they were little. By the time I got the last one to bed, it was like—*phew*. Now, with a preteen and teenagers—and my oldest already starting his own life—it’s different. There’s more time. More quiet. They don’t need me in the same way anymore. And while my Penny-style tinkering kicks in to fill the space, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a little bittersweet.

Sometimes I ask them what they remember about those early summers. And inevitably, someone will say, “I remember that time you got mad and yelled at us when we dropped the fishing rod in the pond and it sank to the bottom!” And I think—really? That’s what sticks?  Not the picnics or the fireflies or the ice cream runs—but the moment I lost it over tackle gear?

'These are the times' I hope they remember. Time will tell.

I sigh—but truth be told, whenever my mom, my brothers, and I get together (now all of us with kids of our own), we still end up laughing about the times she’d make us hold out our hands for a light smack with a plastic spatula. That was her version of punishment. We tease her about it to this day. So… apparently, this is how it goes.

But when I really stop and think about my own childhood—it isn’t those moments that stand out. Feeling loved. Feeling safe. Feeling like someone always had my back, that's what I remember. And maybe that’s the throughline—across generations, across cultures, across species.

Motherhood is not easy, and it isn’t always noticed—but it’s ours. It's the ordinary, chaotic, and wonderfully unpredictable moments that somehow become the most extraordinary thing of all.

Here’s to the mothers who show up, hold it together (or don’t), and love with all their heart.

You’re doing better than you think. And you are so, so appreciated.

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Whether you're wiping peanut butter off the dog or just trying your best to keep the snacks stocked and the love flowing—we see you. We’d love to hear your stories, your moments, or just your thoughts on motherhood. Leave a comment below!