Trying to be Superwoman

I have been reading a book, which is unusual for me, for now days the only books I get to read are third grade Junie B books and piles of textbooks, so when I do get to read, I prefer magazines or extremely lighthearted books. This book is called Harried With Children, by Karen Scalf Linamen. If you have not read it, get it. My mom bought it for me (hum, was that a hint?). Now I am going to make her read it.


In her book, Linamen celebrates all of the crazy experiences that come along with being a wife and a mom--the things that we would never admit to our closest friends. The crazy things that happen that make us shake our heads and pray to God for strength.


One of the things that I often struggle with is not being a superwoman. Or superwife. Or supermom. I always imagined life different—more pulled together, more organized, more structured and orderly. More fun, fewer headaches, less hectic. I always have had a romantic notion of what life would be like—and I am pretty sure that I have fallen short of my 13-year-old dreams.

As I get older, and especially recently, I have gotten to know other women—other moms. And not the passing in the carpool lane, polite wave with make up on get-to-know, but the real, drop your guard, be honest get-to-know. And you know what? These women are even more wonderful and beautiful than they were with their perfectly pressed facades. Their flaws, their inadequacies, their fears—make them all the more beautiful. They are strong, devoted, loving women doing their best to do the same thing I am—survive the great balancing act.

Linamen talks about this in her book—and they way she writes is so hiliarious, I had to share…


“My guess is that, like me, you’re no superwoman. In fact, if you’re really like me, you don’t even know any superwomen.

“And yet, we are so hard on ourselves, aren’t we? We begin with such high expectations…and are dismayed to discover how short we fall…

“And yet I still have these really crazy expectations for myself. I still try to do it all, be it all, have it all. I keep thinking I can fly…

“At these moments, it’s good for me to try to get a grip on reality. I try to remind myself that, while I may be a superwoman wannabe, I’ll never be a real superwoman. How do I know?...


“A real superwoman would never be rushing for an important job interview, nick her leg shaving, and have to walk out the door wearing a Muppet Babies Band-Aid under her hose.

“A real superwoman would never have to go on a diet. And if she did have to go on a diet, she would never cheat. And is she did happen to cheat, it would be for something rich and sophisticated, like caviar or chocolate mousse. She would never blow her diet because of an insatiable craving for Moon Pies or Sweet Tarts.

“A real superwoman wouldn’t tell her kids to save dinner leftovers in a Tupperware container when she doesn’t actually own any Tupperware, and what she REALLY means is for them to use one of the twenty-seven recycled butter tubs (with missing lids) that comprise the bulk of her food-storage system.

“A real superwoman would never invite friends over homemade brownies, forget to add the flour, and make her guests eat the brownies using spoons. She definitely would not then move to a new house, invite those same friends over for chili, realize her spoons were still packed away in the garage somewhere, and serve the chili with plastic forks.

“A real superwoman would never hang up on her editor while shouting the phrase, “I HAVE TO GO! THE BABY’S IN THE TOLIET!”

“A real superwoman would not own a freezer so precariously crammed with frozen mystery foods that she makes her children wear hard hats and steel-toed boots before they’re allowed to open the door for ice cubes.

“A real superwoman would not occasionally arrive at her office at 6:00 am to get some extra work done and fall asleep at her computer until 8:00. Thus, she would never be put in the embarrassing position of hoping desperately that her coworkers would not find out about her dark secret, only to have one of them tell her later, “Of course we knew. We all knew. When you’d been sleeping, you’d come out of your office with a keyboard imprint on your cheek.”

“A real superwoman would not be growing eleven different strains of penicillin in her refrigerator.

“A real superwoman would never sit down in front of the TV to watch Sesame Street with her toddler…and still be there watching Barney two hours later while her toddler is happily playing with her blocks in the other room.


“A real superwoman has never stood in front of her closet, gazed at the pile of dirty laundry awaiting her, and had the word ‘Kilimanjaro’ pop, unbidden, into her mind.

“…cheer up and welcome to the club. You and I are members of a mega-soroity of women everywhere who live a harried, flawed—and at the same time, a relatively happy—existence.

“Superwoman? Who needs her? She doesn’t exist, my friend. Not at my house, not at yours. Not in our generation. Not in this universe.

“Superwoman is passé.

“But super women…well, that’s another story altogether.

“Let me tell you a little about super women. They’re everywhere, in every generation, in big cities, and small burgs alike. They’re flawed and fabulous, wounded and wonderful. They are moms and wives and daughters just like you and me, woman who know what it’s like to juggle and struggle, live and learn, laugh and love, moan and groan, and ultimately survive and even thrive.

"Women of steel? Women who leap tall buildings? They’re the women who drive carpools and care for aging parents, who watch Barney, watch for their teens to come home after curfew, and watch their weight. They’re women who remember birthdays and doctor’s appointments and baseball games, who bake cookies for fund-raisers and muffins for colleagues at the office. They’re the women who take care of their grandkids so their daughters can work. They crave chocolate and hate well-woman exams and learn to live with the adversities of life. They’re the women who change diapers and dread the change of life and end up changing their world because of what they do and who they are.

“Super women? They’re alive and well on Planet Earth.

“So smile when you zip up that cape.

“Looks like we just might be the real thing, after all.”


So you know what, I am not superwoman. But my superwoman feats for the day are: that my hearing impaired daughter can read Junie B books, that my four-year-old is learning to be patient and kind to others, and that my 18-month-old goes down the tornado slide at the park all by herself! And that is enough for me!



Thanks for listening, Superwoman Kathryn.