Many
mothers, at some point in the daily chaos, juggling multiple responsibilities
along with any number of kids and their assorted baggage of school, activities
and life upheaval, hear the accolades of being a super mom.
“How
do you do it?” goes the refrain. “You’re amazing!”
I
know this is true. Most of us do possess extraordinary if not superhero powers.
My
eyes see messes, dirt, hairballs, dog puke, bathtub and shower scum, countertop
crumbs, and piles of dirty and clean clothes — all invisible to the naked
eye.
I
sense harrowing danger lurking on every street, dark or daylight, and in the
most seemingly innocent of situations. Only I know why curfews must be issued
and obeyed, and can predict with uncanny certainty why doing homework, texting,
listening to music and watching TV simultaneously will lead to academic ruin.
I
also have the superhuman ability to determine when garbage must go out,
dishwashers emptied and dogs walked. Amazing laundress powers allow me to fold
clothing precisely and without wrinkles, put it into drawers, and make every
piece fit without heaving an extra breath or rolling the eyes.
Trust
me, I have worked diligently to pass along these seemingly mundane, yet
exceptional skills to my children with mixed degrees of success and occasional
flashes of brilliance. A bathroom cleaned without asking. A load of laundry
started with no intervention. These are my small, treasured moments.
I
have witnessed random bursts of capability, yet the siren’s call for Superhero
Mom still sounds. Only I can hand-wash delicate clothes and wool sweaters or
restore order and organization to a dorm room.
So,
yeah, moms can be kind of amazing. It’s true.
And
in typical mom-ness fashion, we shrug off the compliments with equal parts
wonder (truly, how do I do it), self-congratulation (maybe I am OK), self-loathing
(I really haven’t done it as well as it may look), and self-doubt (oh crap, I failed
miserably).
Heading
into my 23rd year of mothering, I find the journey has been, for the
most part, a long, hard slog intermixed with unparalleled joy, reward and drama
— and, always present, incessant worry.
Whether
knee deep in diapers with the stench of baby puke lodged in nasal passages,
plunged into the despair of teen hormones and angst, or working through college
and post-college uncertainty, parenthood often means slapping on a set of
blinders and digging through the trenches. It’s head down, butt up and mind
focused on immediate survival.
I
did the 70-hour workweeks with day care and fast food drive through meals on
the run. I found myself mid-scream, wondering what kind of mommy monster I
turned into, more times than I’d like to count. I locked myself in my bedroom,
glass of wine in hand, husband out of town, and children left to roam free
unattended for just 15 minutes, I promise.
I
perched over the edge of craziness, unable to go on, and quit my job, angry at
the overwhelming work and family demands, unsure and scared about where we were
headed beyond a lot less income. Thirteen years later, still serving as home
steward and working part time as our last two children navigate high school, I admit
to bouts of what-ifs, would haves and should haves. Where would I be, where
would our family be, had I done otherwise?
There
is no definitive answer for the twisted and tortured soul-searching, no way to
know for sure right from wrong direction. But, on one point I am
unequivocally certain: This path and this journey worked for our family.
Would
everything have worked another way? My best guess is yes. But really, who cares
and does that matter?
As
a society, we continually pass judgment on women and their family/work choices.
Day care/preschool/nannies and staying home/working is good/bad. You can/can’t
have it all.
We
pass judgment and measure ourselves against others, nursing discontent about
our choices and unable to simply live with the consequences of our own
decisions.
President
Obama, in his inaugural speech Monday, Jan. 21, 2013, told the nation of our
incomplete agenda, that we have numerous challenges facing us before we can
rest on our laurels. For women, he said, “… our journey is not complete until
our wives, our mothers, and our daughters can earn a living equal to their
efforts.”
I
would add to that, our journey is not complete until we allow women the freedom
to choose — without judgment — their life path.
The
only mandatory quality should be that we raise our children with love and to
love, with kindness and to be kind. And, as they head out from our homes to
find themselves and their own life path, be a force for good and make a
positive contribution to the world around them.
