I’ve noticed a recurring theme on “mom blogs” as the calendar turned a New Year: lots of moms are writing about once and for all “throwing in the towel” and committing to give up any notion of being – or ever becoming – “Supermom.”
While I understand the sentiment and the full heart this resolution comes from, I vigorously disagree with moms who want to give up trying to be Supermom.
I believe every. single. mother. should strive to be Supermom every. single. day. I think it should be our singular challenge and an all consuming passion. Trying to be Supermom should be the reason we run with perseverance and fight that good ol’ fight every day. We should strive for it, sweat for it, cry over it, laugh as we conquer it.
Who is Supermom?
Perhaps I should start by telling you what She does.
She gave up her “career” to stay home so her kids could have her presence each day.
She can’t give up her job, and for good reason, so she puts on a brave face when she kisses them goodbye each morning.
She wipes noses and fills sippy cups.
She sings songs with her kids.
She turns on the radio and lets them sing along.
Her house is a Pinterest-worthy model of spotless clean.
Her house is a wreck and she wonders if she’d qualify for the show “Hoarders.”
She jumps out of bed ready to face the morning on her own fuel, sipping lemon water while she makes their breakfast.
She drinks coffee in the mornings like a Boss. She wears three coats of under eye concealer to hide the battle scars of a long night with children.
She cooks all three meals from scratch from all organic ingredients.
She opens cans and thaws freezer meals.
She cuts coupons and meal plans weekly.
She does drive-thru because it’s 5:30 and they need to eat and she needs to breathe.
She vaccinates her children because she wants to make sure they stay healthy.
She hasn’t given them any shots.
She rubs his back every night when he gets home from work.
She falls sobbing into his arms and asks how can she possibly do this again tomorrow.
She spends quiet time each morning in prayer.
She makes her work her prayer offering.
She packs a homemade meal for their lunch box each morning.
She sends cash in their pockets for the cafeteria meal.
She homeschools her kids.
She drives them to the school herself each morning.
She walks them to the bus holding their hands.
She spends hours on the floor playing with her kids.
She gave them siblings and toys to play with so she can do other things.
She always gets dressed in cute lovely outfits before breakfast.
She wears yoga pants and ponytails six days a week.
She fills Costco carts with wholesale diapers twice a month.
She hand washes cloth diapers at the end of each day.
She shops at Walmart.
She shops at Whole Foods.
She often does craft projects with her toddlers.
She hates the sight or smell of glue.
She spritzes on a designer fragrance each morning.
She smells like spit up and poopy and drool.
She sits down to an intentional meal three times a day.
She eats the ends from the toddler’s grilled cheese sandwich while she walks the halls with that teething little one.
She gives them medicine from a bottle when they are sick.
She makes ginger tea and onion compresses and homeopathics for their owwies.
She spanks them for blatant disobedience.
She sends them to the time-out chair.
She breast feeds exclusively.
She climbs the stairs with a lovingly warmed bottle of formula in the wee hours each morning.
She builds forts out of blankets and pillows, and cleans up after them all by herself.
She sits on the floor for tea sipped out of teeny tiny china cups.
She plays dress up, and rocks baby dolls.
She lets her kids watch TV.
She canceled cable as soon as her kids were born.
She teaches them about God. And life. And love.
She wears perfectly applied makeup every day.
She never gets around to applying makeup, but she knows the kids don’t mind.
She is consistent with exercising and her workout DVDs. You’d never know she’s ever had a baby.
She accepts the few extra pounds as a sign of the love she’s born.
She’s comfortable in her own skin.
She hates the baby weight and wishes she had the time and energy to lose it.
She prays hard.
If you ask her if she’s happy you can see it in her eyes.
Because even though the world is hard, days are long, time is short, and she often feels inferior…criticized…judged… under appreciated…just plain ordinary… and sometimes even a failure…
…even after all this, if you ask her if she would choose to do it all over again, she’d tell you she would. Times a trillion.
Because she loves them. Truly, madly deeply.
She’s not ordinary.
She’s not normal.
She’s not crazy.
She’s not sane.
She’s not attainable or repeatable or reachable by any other woman.
If you’d like to see what Supermom looks like, snap a selfie and post it in the comments below.
Ladies, meet the 2014 Supermom:
Her name is YOU.
A New Years Challenge:
Take a moment today to tell a mother how amazing she is and how important is the job she does for her family.
And if you know someone who could use a little reminder of how awesome she is, please share this with her!