The interesting thing about being a mother is that everyone

Meryl Streep’s words—“The interesting thing about being a mother is that everyone wants pets, but no one but me cleans the kitty litter”—may at first sound humorous, yet beneath them lies a deep river of truth about motherhood, responsibility, and the hidden burdens that sustain the household. She speaks not merely of pets or kitty litter, but of the way that desire and duty are so often unequally divided. Many crave the joys, yet few embrace the labor that makes those joys possible. In this quiet complaint shines the heroic endurance of mothers, who bear silently the tasks no one else will take.

From the beginning of time, it has been so. In ancient villages, families longed for fire, warmth, and food, but it was the mothers who tended the flames at dawn and scraped the ashes at dusk. Children and husbands enjoyed the comfort, but the unseen hands that kept the hearth alive belonged to her. Streep’s quip about cleaning kitty litter is but a modern image of that eternal truth: that often the less glamorous tasks of love fall to the one whose heart is strongest, whose devotion does not waver when others tire.

History offers us many examples. Consider Abigail Adams, the wife of America’s second president. While John Adams served abroad, she managed the farm, raised their children, and bore the weight of household struggles alone. Letters reveal her frustration that her children enjoyed the benefits of their status and home but left her with the daily burdens. Yet she bore it, for she understood that love means shouldering what others ignore. Meryl Streep’s observation is a reflection of that same pattern—one that transcends centuries and cultures.

The truth is this: responsibility is not evenly shared, and rarely is it joyfully chosen. Many clamor for what is delightful, yet when the time for labor arrives, silence fills the air. Here, the mother rises—not because she always wishes to, but because her love will not allow neglect. She becomes the guardian not just of the great things, but of the small, unpleasant, and easily forgotten tasks that keep life dignified and whole.

In these words lies also a teaching for children and families. If you delight in the companionship of a pet, you must also learn to tend its needs. If you love the warmth of a home, you must also sweep its floors. If you eat from the family table, you must also wash its dishes. Only then is love complete. For love that only receives but does not serve is shallow; but love that labors, even in the smallest things, becomes eternal.

This lesson applies far beyond the household. Nations, communities, and even friendships crumble when too many desire the fruits but too few bear the burdens. Consider the fall of Rome: its citizens craved luxury, entertainment, and bread, but fewer and fewer were willing to shoulder the civic duties that kept the republic strong. When responsibility is abandoned, collapse soon follows. Thus, the act of cleaning the kitty litter becomes a parable of civilization itself—the unseen chores that keep life clean, honorable, and whole.

Therefore, let this teaching be passed on: do not leave the weight of responsibility on one back alone. Share the load, no matter how small or unglamorous the task. Children, rise to help your mothers. Fathers, walk beside them. Friends, stand ready to serve as well as to celebrate. If each member of a family, or a society, takes up their share, then joy will be multiplied, burdens lightened, and love made visible.

And so, hear the wisdom in Meryl Streep’s playful lament: that motherhood is often the art of doing what no one else will. But let not mothers stand alone. Let all who benefit from love also carry its weight. In doing so, you will not only ease the labor of those who serve but also learn the sacred truth—that even the smallest acts of service are the purest form of love.