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    Supermom By Day, Exhausted By Night

    http://ithinkthereforeiblog.com/parenting/supermom-by-day-ex...
    121 days ago in I Think Therefore I Blog · Authority: 65

    When it comes to being a super hero, Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne had it easy: they both kept their hero identities secret from those around them, sparing themselves all sorts of expectations, demands and inconvenient requests. Me, well, I’ve only recently discovered my Super Hero powers, and let me just tell you that I am, apparently, the last one to know about them. It turns out that, unlike Clark Kent, I was not born with a single one of my Super Powers. I don’t hail from some planet on which I’d otherwise be average but, by virtue of living on Earth, I now seem remarkable in comparison. And, unlike Bruce Wayne, I haven’t trained all over the world with the most skilled of the skilled, nor do I have a seemingly endless supply of money and a personal butler to tend to my own individual needs while I tend to those of everyone else. My powers, rather, seem to have come to me in stages: first with a wedding ring, a bit more with the birth of each child, and apparently still more with each passing year. From what I can tell, they are also granted in direct proportion to the amount of pounds I gain every year. (This is, I’m convinced, one of the magical properties of a woman’s wedding ring). One day, I was a happy-go-lucky girl whose biggest responsibilities entailed wearing clean, yet attractive, panties and donning fashionable makeup and clothing. My biggest foes were bad hair days and zits. Apparently uttering the Words Of Power — which, when pronounced, sound like “I Do” — I became imbued with all sorts of skills, abilities and talents I’d never possessed before, much less dreamed of. Thanks to the wizardry of those words I came to possess a talent for knowing that humans are supposed to eat dinner. I didn’t realize at first that it was such a unique trait, but now I realize that it’s one which must’ve been granted to me once that Golden Ring slipped onto my hand. Along with it also came, apparently, the ability to cook dinner, too, because I transformed from someone who’d happily subsist on Lean Cuisines® and TaB soda to someone who knows the importance of eating fresh vegetables, whole grains and more white meat than red. These things remain mysteries to the mere mortal I married. Around that time I also acquired other Super Powers I’d never imagined, such as: Laundry Lore: I alone am able to know when it’s time to do laundry, much less how to do it; Dominion Over Dates: My super powers include the ability to remember his mother’s and father’s birthdays, along with those of his sisters, their husbands and their children, in addition to everyone’s respective anniversaries (and ours, too). I also know just how long it’s been since either of our cars has had an oil change, since my husband last saw a doctor or dentist, when every bill in our house is due and what items need to be picked up at the grocery store. Toilet Papering Talent: In addition to possessing the ancient knowledge of how to wipe your ass, I alone seem to possess the power of changing the empty rolls on the toilet paper. Also, I have a knack for noticing those stray bits floating all over the bathroom floor which, apparently, escape the notice of mortal eyes. Budget Bravery: When the house and car payments combined with the utility and grocery bills exceed the seemingly concrete balance in our checking account, I alone am able to figure out how to cut corners and make everything work. Along with this power comes the Insight and Will to say “No, we do not need a bigger computer monitor so the special F/X in your video game look more cool.” Wielding the Writing: Christmas cards to be sent? Paperwork to be filled out? Checks to be signed? ‘Thank You’ notes to be written? I may have never once thought of those things prior to receipt of my Magical Golden Ring but now, evidently, I’ve got a knack for them… or so I assume since I, alone, seem able to remember to perform these feats, much less actually do them. But my acquisition of super powers did not end there. Oh, no. Every year they’ve seemed to increase. Why, I look back on those first few years of (child-free) marriage and realize that even then I was charged with the Goring of Get-Rich-Quick schemes. I know this because I still recall, with much trepidation, how in the midst of a trial that tested my Budget Bravery skills I came home to find my husband had spent well over half of our Emergency Fund (something also born of my super-secret talents) on a scheme to snap up cheap commercial real estate and “become rich overnight”. Evidently I was the only one whose Super Secret Powers saw through the disguise worn by the man in the late-night infomercial who’d lured my innocent, trusting husband to believe he’d become a millionaire within the week. They’ve continued to grow, too, since my children have been born. As previously mentioned, so have my butt, breasts and stomach, so I can only assume that my Powers of Good lie deep within the fat cells that now serve to mislead others to believe I’m a mere mortal. Witnes, for instance, my more recently-acquired skills: The Keeper of Keys: The misplacement of keys in this house is obviously a covert act performed by invisible foes who move things when we’re not looking. I know this because I am constantly told by those who live here with me that of course they put them in the out-the-door spot and yet, every single time I find them (within 2 minutes of someone noticing their absence) they aren’t there! The Guardian of the Grocery List: Regardless of who uses the last of the peanut butter, I alone am able to write it on the grocery list… even though I don’t eat the stuff. Ditto for milk, breakfast cereal and the cloying, fruity body wash my teenage daughter alone uses. Also, because the grocery store is such a big, scary place, my husband is incapable of grabbing the handwritten list off the refrigerator door and, instead, relies on me to send him one via email which is organized by aisle (a la the one you’ll find in my Home Helper Newsletter). The Pundit of Peace: When one TV is blaring in the family room and another one in the kitchen, and there’s not a soul in either room, I alone know they should both be turned off. I am also charged with knowing that having both kids arguing at the family computer 6 feet away from the family TV — with the volume on both being turned up one after the other — means that someone needs to stop talking and turn something down. The Scapegoat for Sex: Evidently, we aren’t “doing it” as often as, say, people on TV. Never mind that we don’t know any married couple who actually is: somehow, this is my fault. It could not be that I am tired. It could not be that, because I homeschool my little boy in addition to my work as a Super Hero and a Mere Mortal Mom, I’m wiped out by 9 pm… at which time my husband repeatedly says he’s “coming to bed soon” only to get caught up in his video game until, oh, 1 o’clock in the morning. It also could not be that, as Super Man once tried to explain to Lois Lane, the conjugal relations of Super Heroes and Mortals can be fatal to the latter. Oh, no. This, somehow, is also something I have a knack for. (And, I’m assured, is also proof that I am NOT Super Mom despite all of my other skills.) No, this is somehow yet another skill of mine that did not manifest itself when I took on the Magical Golden Ring but somehow inexplicably came to being after the birth of two children who are 9 years apart in age. So, behold, world: these are my powers. I asked for this fate and, frankly, I love it… even if I didn’t see it coming. And I am rather flattered — albeit as chagrined as Clark Kent — to have been thrust into this position. I am Super Mom, someone I never once dreamed I would be. You forgave Clark when, more than once, he got to thinking it was all a bit too much for him, and I hope you can forgive me when — as now — it seems a bit more than I’d ever anticipated taking on, too. Clark always bucked up to his role in life and was glad of it again, and I will be, too. But first, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d like to declare Mother’s Day a day of rest for all of those women who — like me — found themselves unexpected possessors of talents we didn’t realize, until you came into our lives, that we even possessed. So rather than giving us another “World’s Greatest Mom” mug (which, by the way, we adored) and arranging a day for us that begins with burned food and involves us pretty much doing what we do every day, could we just celebrate it by enjoying the one thing we don’t get much of: mortality. Mere mortality. We mortal moms by night — Super Moms by day — would really just love a chance to rest, relax, and hang out with a good book or bubble bath — without anyone banging on the door demanding to know why we’re out of peanut butter. And (if it’s not too much trouble) could you please change the freaking role of toilet paper… just for one day. I promise, on behalf of my fellow Moms who also wear the cape, we’ll be back to our ol’ Super Mom selves the next day. Post from: I Think Therefore I Blog Supermom By Day, Exhausted By Night Similar Posts:The Cats Who Own Me, Part 3 Can Someone Please Explain Skid Marks?! Back-to-school Price Slashing Ahead Why We Homeschool: What Did I Get Myself Into? Hacking My Phone: No Ringie Dingie!