Moms. Or. Superwomen. You. Decide.

Tonight as I sit down to write, my house is quiet (and clean!), the little girls are tucked into their beds and sleeping, the puppy is asleep by my feet, and my husband is upstairs working.  It’s a warm evening…today was the first hot day of the season…and the chill hasn’t returned despite the dark skies enveloping our neighborhood.  It’s so peaceful.  One might never guess that a mere four and a half hours ago I was furiously cleaning dog poop off the walls, carpet, my bare legs, my heels, and the dog himself.  Ahh yes…such is my life.

Yesterday as I was reading the homemade Mother’s Day cards that my little girls made I found one that my oldest little girl made at school.  It was a list of sentences about me that she completed.  Things like “my mom likes to…, I like to…with my mom, my mom is prettiest when she…”  She wrote that she thinks I’m prettiest when I wear dresses.  Since this week is predicted to be warm, I found a skirt I hadn’t worn since last summer, and heels that my oldest little girl loves.

We had a good day planned.  My little brother turns 21 today so we planned to meet my family for dinner to celebrate with him and I was excited to pick my little girls up from the bus in an outfit my oldest little girl would love.  I had a busy but productive day and so looked forward to our evening.  I got home with enough time to grab the dog and then head to the little girls’ bus stop.

That’s when sh-t hit the fan.  Literally.

I walked into the house and the smell hit me like a ton of bricks.  I couldn’t decipher what had happened as I opened the door to Sullivan’s kennel and he leapt out.  It wasn’t until he shook off, and dog poop splattered the walls, the carpet, my legs, and my fabulous five-inch platform nude patent leather pumps, that I realized what had happened.  He’d had a very big accident.  I hustled the dog outside, frantically called my husband (and got his voicemail!), and walked out to the driveway to make sense of what had happened and to think of what to do next.  I had exactly one hour before we were to be on our way to BW3 (my brother claimed there was a “hot hostess” who worked there) for my brother’s birthday dinner.

I ran inside, changed into sweats, pulled the kennel to the back yard to be hosed out, grabbed the dog and threw him in the tub, and finally got my husband on the phone and to agree to pick-up the little girls.  While the dog was rinsing off, I cleaned my heels, arms, and legs.  I bathed him, dried him off, went back downstairs to clean off the walls, threw everything I’d used into the washing machine, checked the clothes I’d been wearing before the incident and found they were clean, and somehow was able to get dressed up again and make it to dinner.  Early.  Before the birthday boy.

Surprisingly we enjoyed a laid back and relaxing dinner with my family.  We got home in time to go through last year’s summer clothes and determine what fits and what doesn’t, finish the little girls spelling words and homework, read Nancy Drew, and get the little girls to bed on time.  My husband started working, I took the dog for a walk, and now here I am.

Here’s the thing.  We moms?  We struggle with our confidence.  We worry that we’re not good enough moms.  We worry we’re not doing enough.  We worry that we’re not good enough wives.  And sometimes we go on attack and criticize other moms who we feel aren’t doing enough or doing things right.  But I would venture to guess that in each of our lives?  When sh-t hits the fan?  Each and every one of us gets our a-ses in gear and we make it right.  We fix it.  We make it possible for our families to go about their days like nothing happened.  Even when it means doing things about which we aren’t particularly excited.  We go to work in the morning, come home to a virtual (or in my case literal) sh-tstorm, clean it up, and are able to make it to dinner and the rest of our evening with grace and in heels.  It’s a f-cking miracle more of us don’t lose our minds, or go postal, or aren’t catatonic.  Instead we get up every morning and make it possible for everyone else in our lives to function.

And to that I say…bravo ladies…BRAVO.

TODAY:  What if we give ourselves and each other a break?  I’m pretty sure we’re all doing the best we can under the circumstances…can’t we all just get along?  With ourselves and with each other?

 


5 thoughts on “Moms. Or. Superwomen. You. Decide.

  1. I love this! I very often feel as if I’m holding up the world….and criticize myself later for the couple things that didn’t get done. “what if I gave myself a break”? What if, indeed!

  2. Wow. My version is cleaning up baby poop at 3am. Can’t imagine walking in on doggie doo doo. Bravo to you indeed.

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