Wonder Woman

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Central Coffee… its my favorite new hotspot… just a few blocks from my house. I leave the house by 6am before the kids wake up to take my online class. At Central, Jimmy has my dark roast waiting for me piping hot when I walk in the door looking like something the cat coughed up in the middle of the night. Not Jimmy. Me! Last night, Clark woke me at 3am from a nightmare that involved all of my teeth falling out, to ask me where I kept the children’s Triaminic. In a tired stupor, I completely vandalized the kitchen looking for the purple bottle gone AWOL and wouldn’t you know it was right there on my nightstand the whole time. But at 3am I was too exasperated that the cough medicine, and apparently my teeth, were nowhere to be found even though they were both right under my nose. So what did I do? I took it out on my husband who was just trying to be a good dad and tend to his son’s cough. I’m talking a yanking-covers-violent-tossing-muttering-obscenities fit that resulted in some major grovelling once the sun came up. Ever since Mia was born, I’ve had this problem where if I wake up in the middle of the night, even to pee, my mind starts to race and I can’t go back to sleep. Last night, I laid awake just thinking thinking thinking…. about Salem, his cough, the missing meds, my Italian fury, Saint Clark, of what I would look like with no teeth, and how I really ought to floss more often. Two hours later once I had finally drifted back to dreamland, the alarm went off, and that is how I greeted Jimmy this morning….. like Norbert the Norwegian Ridgeback.

I’m halfway through my first dose of caffeine and no longer fire-breathing when in walks in some friendly faces. One of the girls sat down and we began to chat about our experience yesterday morning at church {given the aforementioned scene of tempers ablaze, it appears I ought to pay better attention}. We were laughing about a mommy-move I made in the middle of band rehearsal. Salem was pulling mercilessly at my pant leg, his petitions for “juice please…juice please” growing more anxious by the measure. My think-fast maneuver went something like this: verse 1…. sing sing sing…. instrumental turnaround… fly backstage to retrieve the sippy gone astray…. fill said sippy with communion grape juice {you think I’m kidding, but I don’t mess around when it comes to holy communion}… thrust sippy into thirsty 2-year-old’s face… back on the mic for verse 2. Bobby May would have been impressed. We were still laughing about it when my friend says, “I swear, you are like Wonder Woman.”

Wonder Woman? Would Wonder Woman have yanked the sheets in a toddler-like tirade at three in the morning? Would Wonder Woman have acted like her son’s cough and her husband’s compassion were infringing on her beauty sleep? She would have properly stowed the cough medicine for quick retrieval. She would have affirmed her husband for being a loving father and then quoted Bible Scripture or counted sheep for two hours until she fell back to sleep. She would have come up with a better solution for her son’s beverage crisis than the communion grape juice for crying out loud! I am most certainly and without a doubt NOT Wonder Woman!

But this got me thinking about my own ideas of perfection. I used to think a woman who had it all together kept the fridge full, the laundry baskets empty, had a 27-inch waist, a perfectly balanced check-book, and a knack for making dazzling conversation. She wouldn’t be caught dead letting her kids run around with jelly toast faces, letting her account overdraft, or heaven-forbid… ever yell at her husband in the middle of the night. I’m not sure a woman like this exists, but if she does, I know one thing’s for sure….

I hate her.

The older I get, the more I am aware that Wonder Woman doesn’t obsess over the 30 15lbs of baby weight still desperately clings to her mid-section because news. flash. She brought life into the world. She knows that ought to be celebrated more than fitting back into her favorite jeans. Wonder Woman laughs. Out loud. The louder the better. She doesn’t notice if the people around her are laughing with her or at her and she doesn’t care. She thinks laughter is contagious and she thanks God that laughter is free. Wonder Woman doesn’t turn a friend away from her house because she hasn’t mopped her floors in three weeks, and she certainly has more class and substance than to gossip about this same friend behind her back. Wonder Woman looks for an excuse to turn an ordinary day into a holiday. If her mother got a good report from the doctor or her friend got a promotion or the dog finally found the pee pad, well that is reason enough to celebrate. Wonder Woman buys bigger jeans, quotes comedy, has dusty base boards, and  treats herself to fresh flowers for the heck of it.

I am not her. But I am working on it.

Do you know any “Wonder Women”? If so, share the wealth. What makes her great? {And if you say a 27″ waist, I will have to un-subscribe you myself.}

Wishing you a wonder-ful week!

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