Yeah—I’m not Supermom. There’s plenty of proof of that just in how much I have to apologize to my children. And in conversations like this:
“Honey, I’m sorry. I got distracted for a moment and totally didn’t hear what you said. Would you tell me again?”
“Sure, Mom. But you’re always distracted.”
Stated as fact, not complaint. And it’s an exaggeration, but we both know my tendencies. I appreciate that most of the time he gives me credit for trying. Besides, when he announces that he’s the king of spacing-out he knows how well I get it.
But that’s not what I want to share with you right now.
I want to share what happens when my kids try to tell me I’m Supermom. Because even though by now it’s a well-established fact that I am not perfect, they can still make me feel like maybe I have a few superpowers.
Friday afternoon we ran errands. Last minute, of course. Oldest needed to buy a corsage for the 7th and 8th grade spring dance (still processing that one.) Middle needed accessories to go with her Genesis “Invisible Touch” tour t-shirt for her school’s Decade Night (still processing that one, too.)
Middle was excited-to-overflowing by her $5 white fake-Keds and clusters of black and glow-in-the-dark rubber bracelets:
“You’re the best mom in the world!”
Oh, big smile.
“Before I was born I went to the Mother Store and chose you, because you were the very best.”
Quick glance to see if I was eating it up. I was.
“You were the very last one there, and I bought you.”
Wait.
“Honey, if I was the last one there that might be because nobody else wanted me.”
Oldest jumped in. “You were too expensive.”
Good save.
“Yeah. I paid a hundred dollars for you!”
I love when my kids get all encouraging.
I love even more that when we have a conversation like this, even as it descends into absurdity/reality, I know without a doubt what they are really telling me.
And in that moment? Watch me fly.
