How Motherhood Is Like My Butter Dish

Just a few months ago, I decided it was time I got on the butter dish train.

My kids love a good buttered toast. My husband and I enjoy some Kerrygold every now and again. And I was tired of having to practically break my arm when attempting to slice my knife through the refrigerated blob of glorious fat. Because, it doesn’t HAVE to be in the fridge, you know.

I was originally going to go all ‘butter bell crock’ on myself (have you ever seen one? pretty cool), and then decided in my urge to purge that I didn’t need to buy one. But, I would inquire around for anything I could reuse. I started with my parents of course. Before I knew it, I was the humble new owner of my great-nana’s antique china butter dish.

If you know me, I am a sucker for classic but functional family hand-me-downs, especially from an influential generation I never met. This circular butter-snuggler has seen multiple generations of Italian language, warm homemade bread, moves from home to home, and touched the hands of many relatives I have never met, and many that I have. I was honored when my mom and dad offered it to me. I often find myself just staring at it, wondering where it sat in my Nana Testa’s kitchen, what it was surrounded by, if it ever was empty or forgotten about, or if it was always full and attended to. It wasn’t too long until I realized that motherhood is, in fact, like my butter dish.

Motherhood is crazy pants. It’s rewarding and can also be empty. It is literally a circle of ups and downs and highs and lows. Note – the shape of my butter dish.

It can be full of some of the best experiences and relationships, but at times, be one of the most empty times of our life. We may feel consumed by everything on the outside, and pay little attention to what matters on the inside. It needs cleaned up and refreshed, and when it is, it contains some of the best moments ever. It’s the little things that keep motherhood revitalizing. The sweet kid moments, the special quiet times with your spouse/partner, the unexpected hugs and kisses from little messy faces.

Motherhood is a mystery. Most days you don’t know what to expect, but you do know you wear that motherhood hat with pride. Sometimes it disguises things you don’t want anyone to know about. Those deep-down inside struggles and emotions. Other times, it opens you up to all of the simplistically exciting experiences and friendships. Things you would never think you would do or see or find enjoyable. 

Motherhood causes you to share yourself with others. You find yourself vulnerable when you would never have been otherwise. You definitely pick and choose who you open up to, but nonetheless, you choose to share yourself. No matter how hard we try to keep our lid closed tight, inevitably, we open up and share. Maybe it’s the big things (my marriage sucks right now), or the small things (did you see that deal at Aldi?) – but in the end, we share in some manner.

Motherhood requires self-care. Some days we feel shiny and sparkly, other days we feel dirty and down. A quick, self-imposed kick in the rear, or maybe quiet time and prayer, or perhaps a trip to our favorite coffee shop or gym, and many times we are back to our polished selves. Self-care can be big or small, but regardless, it is necessary.

Motherhood is both a calling to fill the lives of others, as well as to fill our own lives. We need that glorious, fatty goodness to fill our souls and minds and hearts. We need other mothers to bond with, to text insane questions to and to meet up at the library when all we want to do is pull our hair out. We need mothers of all ages to mentor and be mentored by, to pray with and to pray for, to fill their or to fill our internal ‘butter dish’ right when we think it is on empty. The stories of mothers of past, paired with those of present, help us overcome daily challenges within this duty we have been called to lead. 

Here’s to my great nana’s butter dish. May it continue to remind me of so much more than generational ties and the glory of all things needing a pat of salty glory. I hope it continues to serve as a reminder of my need to cherish these days of motherhood, as well as the need to share them with others. 

Butter on, mamas!