No idea what we are doing: A Superhero Confession

Mother’s Day seems like a pretty good day to explore and celebrate the many faces and capes of the modern mother. Because yes, all moms are superheroes.

But first, let’s go back. Waaaaay back to the 1980’s when my amazing mamma was first cutting her teeth (and my hair) and getting her cape in place.  My mom, ranked the best on the planet by not only her own offspring, drove around while actively breastfeeding me and used Caro syrup to stick bows to my bald head. READ: motherhood makes us all do some funny things. (Again, see my haircut above.)

She also secured the only limousine to ever find its way into our tiny rural town to drive her newly minted teenager and all my best friends around town for one afternoon of paparazzi pretending in the pines. She worked tirelessly to provide for our family, in and outside of the home, started each of our mornings with a hot and delicious homemade breakfast and never missed delivering an April Fool’s prank to us at school.  I’m not kidding. I have no idea how she did it all. To this day, she can hear even the slightest infraction in my voice, indicating that all is not well even when I am trying to pretend that it is. So, listen up, she was and is the best. Certifiable. You’ll find her smiling headshot next to the word selfless in the dictionary. She did her very best and the cumulative effect of her rearing was two functioning adults that hope to parent at least half as well as she did as the baton is passed.

As is true with all of life, the best gifts I have aren’t material and came straight from her including the freedom to one day (not a moment too soon) finally announce: “I have no idea what I am doing.”  The inner steeliness and humility to embrace this necessary truth of motherhood came on the heels of hearing my mom, the Wonder Woman of all moms, announce that neither did she.

“What?! Mom, certainly you never had doubt, guilt or loneliness in motherhood. You couldn’t have. You do this job so effortlessly. Surely the confidence you exude now that I am in my late 30’s is identical to the surefootedness you possessed when dealing with potty-training me at two and a half.”

Absurd, I know. I can hear the lunacy as I write it.  And yet, when I became a mom, I made two woefully tragic presumptions: It was always as easy for her as it looks now. And that motherhood would come as naturally for me as it did her.  I know. I know. Crazy train. But I promised to be vulnerably truthful here. So, there you have it. A glimpse inside (some more of) my misguided expectations.

As it turns out, my beginning can’t compare with someone else’s end. Make’s logical sense, right? Yea… so I tend to learn lessons in the same way that really tasty smoked southern style ribs are created; the low, slow and hard way.

One day, though, I woke up to the best realization ever: It isn’t easy or natural for any of us to surrender to the indirect flame and smoke of motherhood. But as we look beyond the fire of right now, we are being so sweetly seasoned along the way.  

Let’s all say it together, “I have no idea what I am doing. Neither do you.  And most importantly, that is OK.” There are so many variations on what makes for great barbecued ribs. And that seems pretty damn true of motherhood as well. Happy Mother’s Day to all of you strong women facing the flames of change and rocking your cape (which is probably on inside out ….because #motherhood.)