Major League Dreams

I have heard the term Super Mom used quite a bit lately. I don’t have to look far to identify some women I would define as Super Moms, you know the kind of women who have the natural talent to seemingly do everything and do it well. They are the professional athletes of motherhood; child rearing gurus, domestic goddesses, entrepreneurs, PTA presidents, and all around amazing people. They are gifted with heightened organization skills, patience, kindness, energy, and the ability to function on less sleep. I have no scientific proof, but I also think some of them know the secret of how to be in more than one place at a time.  I applaud them, adore them, and strive to be more like them. However, the pressure I sometimes put on myself as I try to measure up to these women is ridiculous and intense. I am like the minor league player with major league dreams!

When I was in junior high I played basketball and I scored often. To watch me play you never would have imagined I could make a basket. You probably would have wondered how I stayed upright throughout the game without tripping over my own feet. I sort of ran with my whole body. I flailed my arms a little and it appeared as though my knees might ram my chin. Gawky doesn’t begin to describe the sad state of my body and athletic prowess, but just when people started to wonder why on Earth my coach let me play I would surprise everyone and do a perfect lay-up. I had no style or grace and there was no chance of the WNBA in my future, but I had heart and could get the job done. Motherhood is a similar situation for me.

Recently I was having a great day. Everything seemed to be going along without a hitch and everyone was cooperative and pleasant. I was overcome with pride at how much I was achieving. As they say….pride cometh before the fall. I was taking a few moments to apply a fresh coat of paint to my toenails, when things started to unravel. The phone rang and I answered it while continuing to paint away with a lovely shade of lavender. Now balancing the phone between my cheek and shoulder and painting my toes, I asked my son to hand his sister a toy that had fallen on the ground. He refused as he was busy with an important construction project. His sister began to bellow at the loss of her toy. I motioned with my hands for my boy to help me, while still trying to stay engaged in a conversation on the phone, and paint my toenails. When he vigorously refused I turned my head to give him “The Eye” and instead painted a large strip of my hair purple and dropped the phone.  Everyone survived and I enjoyed my funky modern hair for a week, a bright reminder that I shouldn’t try to do everything at once.

I am not able to leap from one building to the next and I am not capable of doing everything and doing it well. My number didn’t get called during the handing out of Super Mom powers. The focus of my days is teaching little lessons as they come, making sure everyone is dressed and fed (a major feat at times), ensuring no one suffers a major injury, the house is somewhat clean, we aren’t lost in an avalanche of laundry, and (gasp) I have a few moments just for me. It isn’t glamorous and it doesn’t qualify me for Super Mom status, but most days I succeed at these goals and I am happy with the job I have done. Some days those major league dreams start creeping in and I think I should be able to do it all. Those days are sad, because it doesn’t take long for reality to strike.

I will continue to be amazed by my Super Mom friends, cheer them on, and congratulate them on all they are able to accomplish. I will also continue to put all my heart and gawky flare into this thing called motherhood. I hope my love will make up for my lack of super powers. I am still in the game; I am just doing it in my own messy imperfect way. Every rodeo has its clowns…and I am better suited for the rainbow fro and goofy grin than the glory of trying to tame the bull!