Perfect Solution

You know the type.

That one mom who always has it together.

Who always looks fabulous, and effortlessly so.

Who never has a bad hair day.

Who has bright, charming, well-mannered children.

Who got her figure back within two weeks of giving birth to her fourth kid.

Who’s busy with home and career and charities yet still attends every PTA meeting…and brings homemade muffins.

I’d like to think that SuperMom doesn’t exist. But it seems every neighborhood has one.

She’s the Mom We Love to Hate.

In the face of such effortless, envy-inducing perfection, what’s a regular ol’ mom to do?

Funny you should ask…

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Perfect Solution

She’s pretty, she’s witty, she dresses with style.
She’s polite and quite poised, with a perfect white smile.

She never looks tired. She never feels fat.
She’s a perfect size 2, so why would she, at that?

Each time she was pregnant, she never got queasy.
Each time she was pregnant, she made it look easy.

Her butt didn’t bulge, her legs didn’t swell,
Her face wasn’t peppered with pustules from hell.

Her labors were short, her deliveries fast;
She didn’t swear like a sailor as doctors went past.

Sleepless nights never once left her dreary and dragging;
And her nurturing breasts are still perky, not sagging.

Her children hit milestones before they were due —
Potty trained just like pros long before they turned two.

Her patience is endless, she takes tantrums in stride;
And she never — not ever — resorts to a bribe.

For bake sales, she makes whole wheat cupcakes from scratch.
For breakfast, it’s fresh juice — in glasses that match.

Each evening she serves gourmet cookbook cuisine
In a kitchen she keeps antiseptically clean.

She runs a home business that’s wildly successful,
Yet makes time for hubby when his day’s been stressful.

An entrepreneur, and a caring dad, too,
He looks like he stepped from a spread in GQ.

He’s smart and he’s funny, with muscles to flex,
And if rumors are true, they have great, frequent sex.

So you see, she’s not perfect — she’s far, far beyond.
(Oh, and lest I forget: she’s a NATURAL blonde.)

So it’s tempting to wish for her all kinds of strife,
Or just rip her to shreds for her fairytale life…

To spread gossip and rumors and out-and-out lies,
Tales of Botox and implants and lipo-thinned thighs…

Tales of stretch marks and cellulite, looming divorce…
And you knew ‘bout the Prozac with vodka, of course!

Yet – why advocate malice? Why foster such spite?
There’s a much better method to make it all right…

A much better way that would free us from loathing
This woman, her home, her hair and her clothing.

With a small bit of effort, and a bit more of cash,
Ms. Perfect McPerfect can soon meet her match.

Yes, a donation here, an offering there;
And soon there’s enough if each pays her fair share.

And then: just a call to a “friend of a friend”
Who does “favors” for those with the means to an end.

For you see, I’m NOT suggesting we hate her
when it’s easier by far just to….eliminate her.

©2011 Carlotta Eike Stankiewicz

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Supermom, Schmupermom

I can bring home the bacon. Fry it up in a pan. And never, never, never let you forget you’re a man! ‘Cause I’m a woman!

I know the words from the Anjolie perfume commercial by heart. I had them drilled into my head growing up in the 70’s.

When that ad was popular, women had already come a long way, baby. Thirty-some years later, on International Women’s Day, we recognize that we’ve come even further.

However, as a woman – specifically a mom — there’s a certain ideal I feel compelled to live up to. Society puts it out there, of course, but I can take responsiblity for it, too. I hold myself up to this crazy and often impossible standard when it comes to being a mother, a writer, an employee, a homemaker, a friend and a lover. Even a few minutes spent with today’s Oscars red carpet pics delivers plenty of evidence of moms who feel the need to alter their bodies to uphold our society’s standards of beauty. And moms who don’t.

But damn, we’re not perfect, and we’ll drive ourselves crazy striving to be. So today, I’m not frying up any bacon or spraying about anything but Eau de Lysol. I’m getting take out and serving it up in a lovely ensemble of sweatpants and t-shirt.

‘Cause I’m a woman.

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SuperMom, SchmuperMom

SuperMom, SchmuperMom.

More like…In-A-Stupor Mom.

Sick-and-Tired-of-Poop-er Mom.

Oh @#%! Another Blooper Mom.

Fevers-Colds-and-Croup-er Mom.

Runny-Nose-with-Goop-er Mom.

Pass-the-Chicken-Soup-er Mom.

Late-For-Our-Playgroup-er Mom.

Stay-at-Home/Commuter Mom.

Bargain-Hunting-Two-Fer Mom.

I’m-Tired-of-Being-A-Trouper Mom.

Bit-Off-More-Than-I-Could-Chew-per Mom

Life’s-Thrown-Me-For-A-Loop-er Mom.

I-Nursed-So-Now-They-Droop-er Mom.

SuperMom? SchmuperMom.

© 2009 Carlotta Stankiewicz