I hate the word “Supermom.” Nonetheless, I have one. I’ve known it my whole adult life, but now that being a mom kicks my ass on a daily basis, I realize just how super mine is, and just how lucky I am.
Without more blather, I wish you all a happy Mothers' Day and present: My Mom is Like Wonder Woman. And Batwoman. Yes She Is.
Wonder Woman: Diana pops into my mind first when I think about my mom. Not because my mother is Zeus-spawn raised on a man-less island, but because my mother is fierce. She’s 76 and she would still take out anyone who dared hurt me.
This isn’t to say she was one of those moms always throwing themselves in front of imaginary trains, or advocating for me instead of teaching me to advocate for myself. She and my dad have always been champions of independence, of me doing my own laundry and earning my own spending money and in general sucking up and dealing (though she would never use the word “suck”).
Having said that, she has always been fierce when it comes to protecting me: When I was in college near Norfolk, Virginia, and the Gulf War broke out, she informed me she would be sending a taxi for me should things get dicey. (Defining “dicey” was her call.) This is perhaps an extreme and humorous example, but she’s my mom and she’s got my back. Not only physically, but in all arenas.
She doesn’t read this blog and unlike my dad and I, she can sit still for five minutes without reading a book, but she’s always encouraged my love of words. While my other friends dealt with pressure from their parents to be practical when it came time to choose college majors, she and my dad applauded my choice of major and minor (English and Anthropology). They kept up the practical advice and cheerleading during the (overly) long journey it took me to get to a career that I love.
Also, like Wonder Woman, my mother dispenses with the sentimental. She loves me and so she acts. No gushing, little fuss, lots of action. I often wish I were more like her on this count.
Batwoman: Speaking of independence, Batwoman.
My mother is straight, has never attended nor quit West Point, and has not yet been offered a position with Batman Inc. (Though she’d be an asset, with her sharp mind, lead foot, and mad organizational skills.) But Batwoman charts her own course, and so does my mother.
I’m not sure if she gives a sh** what other people think or not, but she has always held true to her own course without seeming to worry about anyone else, while also getting along with, and respecting, everyone.
She worked at my school for a number of years, serving as the school secretary-cum-nurse-cum-jane-of-all-trades.
When I was young and self-conscious, I wanted everyone to know that she had an undergraduate degree and a master’s degree, from an Ivy League college no less. Now I’m 41 and I’m on Facebook and whenever someone from those days friends me, the first thing they ask is “How’s your mom? I loved her.” To a person. Once I’ve assured them she’s thriving, they get to asking about me. Sometimes.
My mom was herself and didn’t worry about how she looked to anyone else, or concern herself with proving anything. She took a job at my school because she could be a mom and earn some money. And she did that job in such a manner that, decades later, people are still talking about her.
Not because she has a Master’s from Brown, but because she is awesome.
My sister and I celebrated Mothers' Day with my mom last week. We went on a tour of historic Salem homes and then shared nachos and beer.
Super day. Super mom.