The petty school yard bull shit of who bakes the best cupcake or who stays up all night prepping crafts……..
I recently interacted with two people that I have never met before and each told me that I had a reputation for being a “Super Mom”. One of them was kind and just commented that she didn’t know how I was “going be” because word on the street was that I was organized and ran an awesome class party. ( As if that’s a bad thing) The other, well, not so nice. She flat out told me that her goal was to be “super mom” and that she always goes out of her way to bring in over the top desserts and such for the kids. It has taken me a few days to think about what just happened. Was it my email at beyourbestmom that set them off? It says “your” not “I’m”. Regardless, this fascination with being a “super mom” is as old as time. These days “super” seems to be a cross between Martha Stewart,a Stepford Wife, and a Fortune 500 CEO. For me it’s just not like that in real life. Every mom is “super” in some way whether society sees it or not. I don’t believe that my ability to sculpt an anatomically correct skeleton out of Q-tips makes me a super mom. A super freak maybe, but not a super mom. I think we need to get over it.
Who do I think is a super mom?
The mom that asks for help when she needs it. The mom that smiles while her child is going through Chemo to help keep her child’s spirits up. The mom that holds that same family together when nothing in the world makes sense anymore. The mom that comes home and holds her children tight because she just spent the entire day watching her partner suffer under the hands of doctors. The mom that works two jobs because her partner just left her and she needs to make ends meet. These are the super moms. I’m a sideshow. Once again, I don’t think crafting a tree out of a toilet paper roll makes me special. What makes me special is that I’m me. I get dirty, I paint, I play in the sand box and I jump into the hotel pool with all my clothes on for my kids. I’m doing the easy part right now. Someday, I might have to be “super” like these other moms and I hope I have their strength to do it. They are my heroes.
For now, I suppose I’ll go on being hated for my paper plate version of the Taj Mahal.