I would have loved for her to wait at the bus stop with her hands propped just above the brow line to shield her eyes from the sun. She would listen for the roar of the school bus engine pacing its way up the slight hill, around the sharp curve, and approach the house. She would wear a smile - one seen from a mile away and that all the children would claim to be for them.
As the bus came to a screeching halt, she would remove make-shift sun shield (hand) from her face and walk strategically toward the bus. As the doors opened, and a pair of feet would thump down the large, threaded steps, and a little boy would appear with a smirking grin on his face. He knew exactly who she was.
Their hands would connect, there may even be a slight series of gallops along the way as they conquered the driveway together. The obligatory question, "How was your day?" would be asked and the obligatory answer of, "Good!" would follow right after.
She would open the door to the house. Laundry, papers, boxes, and whatever other pieces of life left behind would play greeter as they entered. It wasn't the welcome you wanted to see, but somehow managed to always be welcoming.
He would immediately begin his after-school routine: The book bag would plop down on the floor. The shoes would come off. A trip to the bathroom if necessary. Then, a visit to the fridge to find a suitable snack that would hold him over until dinner. The couch would invite him to sit. The television would turn on to some form of animated pleasure. And homework sighs and woes would begin instantaneously. (Don't worry, it's how he concentrates. Save your judgement for someone else's child. Ha!)
She would sit alongside him, rummaging through the mounds of papers sent home from school that day. Book fairs, meetings, sign-ups, and field trips were a few of the items of importance. The rest of the papers were simply documenting his progress. No need for them, she was well aware of his achievements. As it turns out, he was quite the scholar. He would complete his assignment, barely asking for assistance. It was a good thing. Third grade math was no joke!
She would ponder the rest of the day. After homework, there would be a small window of "free time" and by "free" that meant an opportunity for her to map out dinner plans, tidy-up the house, answer e-mails, and go in the bathroom to cry if necessary. Today would be basketball practice. This meant that she and him would not be back home until 8:30. Great, another half-hour of missing my favorite show.
While at practice, she would think about all that needs to be done AND all that didn't get done. It's was an never-ending cycle of UNaccomplished tasks. She would add a new item each day, sometimes hourly, sometimes by the minute. How does Wonder Woman do it? I bet I have an answer.
For one, she's NOT human. This means her feelings can be edited and animated to meet her needs. She doesn't even have to deal with mascara that streams down the face after a session of the "ugly cry".
Second, she doesn't have children. That really should have been number one. The dynamic always changes when a child is involved. Sometimes good. Sometimes bad. She has the ability to trot around (or soar) without thinking about someone other than herself. Picture that...okay, time's up.
Third, she doesn't have stretch marks. This alone would remind her that she is A) human and B) not a mother. Do you see a running theme here?!
I never wanted to be a SUPER WOMAN, but I always wanted to be a mother. Karen White said it best anyway, "Boy I am only human." (Nuff said). However, I do want to be SUPER at what I do. For the times when I want to give-up or flee responsibility, I want to put on my imaginary cape and fly through my duties with ease. I want to check items off of the list with a permanent marker instead of a pencil. I want to face the day like it's my last. I want to give all of me and give my all. It can be my definition of SUPER, not anyone else's definition. I owe it to my child because he's pretty darn SUPER himself.
And even though my cape has faded, is worn, and has lost some of its "powers" over the years, it remains one of my favorite articles of clothing. Even when I think I want to hang it up, or resign from my position (which will never happen), I am reminded of the way it makes me feel. And that's just SUPER enough for me.
Photo credit: Pixmac.com