I'm not a superhero but I think motherhood qualifies fairly close to a super human being on some level. I've performed some amazing feats like existing on little sleep for months and yet not going about in a zombie-like state during the day; I've juggled crying babies and testy toddlers and hit the repeat button for 10 years (and counting); I've sniffed out a lying kid faster than a dog can a bone; I've darted steely stares in public like invisible lasers that make my kids freeze in their tracks.
Yes, I'm pretty darn tough. Mothering has made me that way. I've outgrown giggly school girl and gritted through my fear of worms when my then 4-year old shoved a handful of her "pet" crawlies in my face.
But like in every superhero plot, it was only a matter of time when I would find the grip that crippled my strength.
Mornings are hard for me. The kids are slow to wake, and when they do, they move at snail speed. I'm perpetually barking orders at them to hurry, and counting down the minutes before the school bus arrives. I hate the mornings; they turn my gray hairs white. Aidan, by far, is perhaps one of my most disorganized kids with Sean following a close second. Perhaps it is a boy thing but this 6-year old constantly needs a fire lit behind his butt to get things done. That fateful morning, it was mostly the same story exacerbated by a string of misdemeanors and I was on a war path. I nagged at him for a series of poor decisions and sent myself on the fast track to grumpy mode. I thought, "why me?! what did I do to deserve this torment? Was I this much of a handful for my parents too?"
The morning drama was nearing to a close as Aidan headed for the door. He looked set to head out but instead, lumbered back into the house where I was a spit away from yelling at him to go back outside, worried that the bus would leave without him. But he stopped my angry tongue with a bear hug and these crushing words, "I love you, Mommy".
My superhero strength splintered like cheap glass. I returned his unconditional love with a big wimpy hug, fighting back the mixture of guilt, love and shame called tears. What did I do to deserve this little boy?
I had found my kryptonite.
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| Aidan and his friend Ava drew an alien. This could easily be me every morning. |
