Even though I wrote a post ages ago about how I’m NOT Super Mom and I regularly proclaim how there’s no such thing and women need to be kinder to themselves, I still have this niggling little secret. I want to be Super Mom. Which is utter lunacy, because that means that somewhere deep down inside I actually believe it’s possible. I still feel frustrated when I don’t achieve all the things I wanted to, even if they were so far out of the realm of possibility that not even June Cleaver and a full time staff of nanny, housekeeper and gardener could have accomplished them.

So, I am forced once again to realize that I am NOT Super Mom. With one stipulation. I believe that it IS possible to be a Super Mom a little bit at a time, and on some fantastic, relaxing, my three-year-old-is-being-an-angel days, maybe even for a full 24 hours.

Another thing. Maybe we need to redefine our understanding of the word SUPER. Maybe “super” is your best on that given day. Maybe “super” is staying awake at bedtime and holding a conversation with your child when they’ve woken you up at 4am three days in a row. Maybe sometimes “super” just means not unleashing all your fury on the whiny kid that has just dropped the 812th pants bomb this year in his Lightning McQueen underpants when you JUST got up from the potty 30 seconds ago. “Super” is your best self in that moment. Super is taking 30 seconds to actually crouch down to your preschooler’s level to talk to him and really let him know you’re listening. Super is driving the extra thirteen blocks just to see the backhoe around the corner because you know it will make him happy.

Striving for Super Mom status goes to a whole new level when you’re working. I started back to work this week and now I have the (very, thanks to the little man’s inner alarm clock) early mornings and a short time in the evenings to cram any efforts at Super Momishness in. Plus weekends. I am very lucky and due to some longer hours each day and a shorter lunch break, I get Fridays off. It was only the first weekend of many on this new schedule, but I actually think I did pretty well.

Saturday was the little miss’s first birthday. We threw a birthday/Halloween party for our closest friends and their offspring, if applicable. (Most of our friends without kids know to steer clear of these gatherings but a few braved the chaos and seemed to emerge fairly free of battle scars.) Because of the little man’s sleep patterns, I was up at the ungodly hour of 5:30am. By the time the guests had arrived at 2pm I had baked, frosted and decorated cupcakes (NOT something I do on a regular basis), made hummus, cleaned the house, vacuumed, gone to the gym, done some last minute shopping, made caramel apples (with the caramel wraps, no “from scratch” caramel for this girl) and put up some more Halloween decorations. I do have to say that Mr. Awesome was particularly awesome as he was a big help in getting the place tidy, he chopped up the veggie platter and gave me some “me” time to get to the gym.

Not one to shy away from additional challenges, today I made soup (from scratch this time!) for lunch and to freeze for work, some baby food as our freezer stock was getting low, and a chicken pie for dinner. I even did some Halloween crafts with the little man. But wait.

I was feeling pretty good about my proximity to Super Mom status when the little man filled his shorts. Again. I did not handle it well. I didn’t scream or yell or anything, but let’s just say I could have handled the situation better than I did. I am JUST. SO. TIRED. OF. POO. We have been at this potty training thing for so long and there’s no discernible light at the end of the tunnel. It’s just messy underwear as far as the eye can see.

So, like I was saying, Super Mom status is something that comes and goes. For a brief time this morning I think I got there.

Maybe I can get there again for a little while tomorrow.