Stop Calling Me "Super Mom"
I was at Target the other day. (Seriously, 80% of my stories start this way.)
Anyway, I was at Target waiting while the checker ran to pick something up for me. I was just standing there with my crazy crew: one baby strapped to my chest, another buckled in the cart, toddler sitting in the basket of the cart. Everyone was getting a little fidgety and bored. Mom included.
Another customer in line said my least favorite phrase, but most often heard when out with all these small children. “Wow! You’ve got your hands full.”
And because I’m awkward and weird, I just said. “Yeah. I guess.”
Then she said my second least favorite phrase. “You are Super Mom.”
No. Just stop. Please stop calling me “Super Mom.” It’s not encouraging. It’s weird. You don’t know me. All you know is that I have a lot of small children which just means I know how to procreate.
Plus, pretty much every mom I know immediately dismisses the “super mom” compliment as soon as it’s issued. We know our faults and failing-- and you, dear stranger, do not. You don’t know us at all.
So just stop calling me “Super Mom.”
Even my mom friends say it. We drop this “Super Mom” compliment on each other, but in a way that really sounds like we're saying, “You are way more capable than me and just plain better.”
No. I’m not.
I’m not more capable or better at ANYTHING just because I have twins. Or because I have three kids. Or because they are all under three. This has nothing to do with how well I’m doing this mothering thing.
Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate a compliment. I know there are things I’m great at and I know there are areas in which I am an utter disaster. But that’s the point. There is no “Super Mom.” We all have our strengths and weaknesses, and we all rely on God to fill in the gaps.
Do you know what I’d like to hear instead?
“Keep it up!”
Keep up the good work. Fight the good fight. Keep going. Persevere.
What that woman who called me “Super Mom” didn’t see was my sweat stains under the baby carrier or how hard I was biting my tongue with my toddler or the number of deep, cleansing breaths I had to take as I forced my infant to stay SEATED in that DARN CART!
“Keep it up!” would have been quite welcome.
I had just done battle in the aisles of my local Target, and I had the pit stains to prove it.
Don’t call me “Super Mom.”
I’m just a sinner giving it my best effort. Compliment that, and maybe you’ll give me the energy to keep it up.