Guest Blogger - Not Super...Just Mom

::slides in like Grover::

Hellloo Evvveryboooody!

Today's guest blogger you have been previously acquainted with. Miranda from Not Super...Just Mom was my very first Follow Friday featured blogger and I'm lucky enough to call her my friend.

If you haven't already checked out her awesome blog I beg that you do. Her writing style, her cute little man and her attention to punctuation {hehe} makes her one of my very favorite people...EVAH.

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Hi, my name is Miranda and I’m a working mom. “Hiiiiiii, Miranda.”

When Jess asked me to guest post for her, I asked her what she had in mind. She said “I was thinking something along the lines of working super mom does it all :)”

And I said, “well, you've come to the right place.” Totally joking, of course.

Y’all, the truth?

I am so not a Super mom (umm, hence the blog title…) and I so do not do it all.

I mean, I do, but I don’t do it all well.

There are piles and piles of clean, wrinkly laundry all over my master bedroom. I might go two weeks (or more ::sadface::) without sweeping and mopping the floors.

I’m pretty sure there are takeout containers currently doubling as science experiments in the back of my refrigerator. And I know for a fact there’s a pizza in the oven (in the box…straight from being delivered) which I MUST remember to put into the refrigerator before I go to bed.

When I started writing this I was sitting at my desk, sipping from one of my two daily travel mugs of coffee, and staring at a blueberry muffin with sugar on top.

The muffin was begging me to eat it. Begging.

I had already eaten a bagel with cream cheese and some sort of breakfast casserole thanks to the PTSA.

My hair was (and is) “au natural” (i.e. wavy, the way God intended) and I’m not sure I put my eyeliner on straight. Or even if I put it on both eyes.

I also wore brown, open-toed, snake-skin print flats and a black shirt (on purpose! ::shock:: ::horror::) to work today. And some random light blue jacket I found in the floorboard of my car this morning.

(This week is Homecoming. Students are dressing in their strangest attire in honor of “Spirit Week.” Today was “Tacky Day” and I wore the black and brown combo, breaking a personal fashion rule, because that was as much tacky as I could muster this morning when I woke up a full 45 minutes late. And it allowed me to wear jeans. Yay for jeans! Tomorrow? “Nerd Day.” I will be going as myself because I am totally a nerd.)

In case you didn’t know, I’m a teacher.

My days are hectic. Crazy. Full.

I get up in the morning (after waking up numerous times with my 18 month old, who still has not grasped the concept of sleeping through the night…) and I shower, bleary-eyed, sans contacts, hoping not to mix up the shampoo and conditioner. I grab whatever seems cleanest and least wrinkled from the piles and put that on. I make sure there is coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.
We leave the house by 7:15 and sometimes Joshua and I don’t walk in the door until almost 12 hours later. And in those 12 hours, I am busy with meetings and grading and phone calls and emails and lunch duty and teaching and thinking about Joshua and thinking about how I never did such-and-such and I still haven’t finished with this-or-that and chatting with coworkers so that I can feel human and have adult conversations. And once or twice a day, I manage to pee.

Hopefully.

Last week was our Fall Break, so I got to stay home with my son and just be a mom. It was simultaneously challenging (ear infection) and completely calming.

Now that we’re back in the swing of our “regular” life?

Joshua’s having one HELL of a time adjusting. He’s screaming from the time I put him in the car seat until the time he goes to bed at night.

I want to run screaming for the nearest bottle of sauv blanc available.

(Just so you know, I actually run screaming to chamomile tea to save calories. And because I don’t want everyone to think I’m an alcoholic and stage an intervention.)

(I’m totally not, by the way. No worries.)

Despite the craziness that is my day, I love my job.

I love teaching. I love working with teens and sharing with them whatever small pieces of wisdom I’m able to share. I like thinking I’m making a difference.

It’s not just a job for me. It’s a career.

But I love being a mom, too.

Even when Joshua’s screaming and I want to scream and he’s crying and I want to cry and then he wants a peanut butter sandwich and I still haven’t lost those last five pounds and then suddenly he’s found a toy and it’s the most awesome toy in the world until it isn’t and then he’s screaming again.

(Holy run-on sentence, y’all. Also? The most accurate depiction I can imagine of how a toddler’s mind works—run-on sentences.)

This isn’t just being a mom for me. It’s my life.

So, how do I simultaneously split and stitch together all these parts of myself?

Nuclear fission…er…fusion…er…um?

No.

My husband.

He’s my rock. My right-hand-man. My everything.

When I have to walk away from Joshua’s fussiness to catch my breath, he steps in and takes over. He handles bath time so I have a few minutes to stare blankly at the wall if it’s been a bad day.

He washes the sippies and makes them and packs them in the mornings. He loads my bags into my car before I leave for work. He’s even been known to make my lunch.

He cooks dinner when I need him to. (Or he tells me we can just order pizza.) Occasionally, he does dishes

On nights like tonight, he watches Glee with me (though I know he enjoys that show, if for no other reason than the fabulously snarky stylings of one Sue Sylvester.)

He lets me sleep in on the weekends to catch up from all of the craziness of my week. And he doesn’t roll his eyes if I tell him I need a Sunday afternoon nap.

He makes me laugh. He makes me smile. And sometimes he makes me furious.

But?

He tells me I’m beautiful when my hair is a hot mess and my clothes don’t match.

I couldn’t handle all the crazy without him.

(And just so you know, I totally ate that blueberry muffin. And it was good.)