In that window of empty time where the blissful land of naps used to reign, my day has gotten into the pattern of quickly going from smooth sailing in the glassy waters of domestic bliss to fighting our way through gale-force winds in the choppy waters of domestic unrest. (Not enough nautical metaphors for you? I could do some more- batten down the hatches, lower the sails, walk the plank.... you get the idea, right?)
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| Pirate Maddie- Most feared baby pirate of the South Bleeker Sea! |
It usually starts when Johnny pulls the big brother card on something, anything really, giving Brandon a bad case of the middle child “Marsha, Marsha, Marsha” syndrome. Then, for good measure, Thomas jumps into the frey thinking he gets what he wants just cause he's four (imagine four chubby fingers waving in your face).
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| Practicing our "scared faces" before Tower of Terror |
Every day I wait and listen, hoping that the talk that we’d had hundreds of times before had sunk in and they’d find a way to sidestep the disagreement. But just as I let my hopes get high enough to crash, the voices crescendo, tempers flare and I sigh, pulling on my captain's hat (I imagine that it has an awesome giant feather, but that’s just me) to once again calm the crew.
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| The Bleeker Crew |
"Guys, what is going on in here?” the script usually goes. They look at me for one quiet moment and then all start talking at once. This brother did this, and that brother did that and it was his fault, not mine.... on and on and on.
I interrupt and ask them the same question I ask every day:
“Hey, who’s in charge here?”
There's always that moment of guilty eyes and twisted lips as they all utter in a disappointed unison- "You are.”
In that moment I should feel victorious!
“That's right kids- I am MOM! I AM in charge. I am captain of this vessel, hardy har har!” But usually as the words sink in, a heavy mantel of responsibility settles on me and what I really think is:
"Oh, crud. I'M in charge…”
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| I don't remember why I have this picture |
That’s when I wish I could trade in my worn feathered captain’s hat for a super-mom cape. I’d drape that baby around my neck and have the power to fly through all the ‘difficult phases’, see through walls of temper-tantrums and and leap tall buildings of homework, late nights and not listening the first time, in a single bound. Then I’d put my hands on my very shapely hips (this is MY fantasy remember) and know that I could do it ALL single handedly!
I’ve searched the internet. That product does not exist.
I tried to make one in my basement but it turned out to be more of a fashion statement than a wearable garment. It’s heavy and lonely and not as flattering as you would think. When it hangs limply off my shoulders I realize- I’m such a poser.
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| Doing homework with Johnny- can't you just FEEL my excitement? |
I’m not ‘super mom’.
I’ll never have a giant SM plastered on my rippled abs (MY fantasy, MINE) but maybe I don’t have to be perfect to be a good mom. I make mistakes- a lot of mistakes, so many mistakes I couldn’t keep track of them if I tried. BUT I do have this nagging desire like most moms I know, to do better, a desire and crazy effort to BE better. I think that is what makes me and so many other moms kinda “super”. Not a cape or special abilities. The striving makes us great.
Sometimes, I forget this. Sometimes, I still try to wear that my homemade cape, clunky and awkward, but thankfully I usually catch a glimpse of myself in the hall mirror before walking out the door for the day. I take a good, long look at the woman staring back.
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| Me as Wolverine- not a great look |
She’s not super or perfect- just normal and trying every day to do better than she did on the one before. Then with a sigh I lift that cape off, untying it reluctantly from around my throat. I’ll save it for another day, here on Bleeker Street.
After all, a grown woman probably should not be wearing a cape.
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| Wearing a baby is way more fun than a cape any way |
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