This November, I’m Not Running For SuperMom

I’m out.

Take my name off the ballot. I reject your nomination; please, for the love of my trashed-out minivan, find someone else to vote for.

For years, I’ve tried to fake it: to dress the part, act the part, and carefully present the part on social media. But I’ve made a decision: I give up. I’m out of the running.

I’m not your SuperMom.  

Here’s where I stand on the issues, and it should be obvious that the job is too big.  I’m definitely not qualified.

Domestic Policy

I long for the mythical unicorn that is a clean house where children actually reside. SuperMom apparently has this one figured out because she’s ready to entertain guests at a moment’s notice. Her children’s toys stay organized in bins in their playroom, and there is absolutely no evidence of the fresh, organic meals being prepared three times a day in her kitchen. Yeah, I’m going to need a good three days’ notice if you want to drop by for a spontaneous visit. It’s going to take me at least that long to shove all my laundry and random kid-crap in the “craft room” and get that weird sticky substance off the counters. I’m out.

Foreign Policy

SuperMom does not negotiate with terrorists. This is mostly because she doesn’t have to; her children are perfectly behaved at all times. They happily eat their vegetables, brush their teeth, and have no opinion whatsoever what cup they drink their milk from. Then there’s me, and my daily hostage situations. I do negotiate with the tiny terrorists. Just today, I bribed my three-year-old with sugar and television {Yes, I know these things are fatal.} just to get her to use the toilet. I’m out.


I’m actually pretty good at this; I’ve blocked Caillou from Netflix, and it’s been months since a surprise egg video dared play itself on our iPad. But your SuperMom uses technology as an educational reinforcement only, not a bribe or tool to regain a tiny piece of her sanity. Her 17-month-old is reading Harry Potter because of her perfectly curated collection of apps, while my one-year-old just really likes the way my phone tastes. I’m out.


Nope. I just don’t have the energy to do it all, and I’m tired of pretending that I do. And also, I’m just plain tired. I have three children, none of whom are able to wipe their own tushies or make themselves a sandwich. By 8:00 pm, I just want to go to bed. Your SuperMom is up until midnight, meal planning for the next 18 months and cruising Pinterest for ideas for her 4th child’s first birthday party. Her 4th child has yet to be conceived. I just finished our family’s 2011 photo book. Yay, me! I’m out.


SuperMom can’t lose her temper when she finds her hair dryer and the baby monitor in the toilet. She doesn’t fight with her husband or get annoyed with her mother-in-law. She can’t let pesky things like post-partum hormones or sleep deprivation get in the way of always having a pleasant, even voice when addressing her toddler, and she never, ever rolls her eyes. The eye-roll emoji is number one on my frequently-used list. I’m out.

 Economic Policy

SuperMom has college accounts funded for all her offspring, and her children do daily chores to earn money to send to Save the Whatever Needs Saving This Week. I dig for change in the dryer and cup holders to support my local Chick Fil A and pay our overdue library fines. I’m out.

Public Appearances

I’ll never look as put-together at preschool drop off as SuperMom. {Seriously, what time did she get up to have hair and makeup looking like that?} You’re lucky I put on a bra and brushed my teeth. And just to be honest, I’ll probably forget to sign a folder, send a snack, or dress my kid for picture day more often than is appropriate. And please don’t ask me to be a room mom because you are just going to end up disappointed. I’ll be happy to bake cupcakes for the class party though, if by bake you mean pick them up at HEB on the way to school. I’m out.

Championing Causes

Look, I’m so happy for her that she has her “thing” that she wants everyone to be as passionate about as she is. I get it. She breastfed her toddler for nine months while pregnant with his triplet siblings, and then tandem nursed them all for another 19 months. Her precious little one only chewed on natural wooden teethers {because … chemicals}. A disposable diaper has never brushed her snowflake’s precious bottom. She only buys and cooks organic meals and doesn’t own a stroller because why would she when she can #wearallthebabies? You do you, and I’ll do me. And doing me means basically none of this. I’m out.

So I’m off the hook now, right? I don’t need the job, and I don’t want the job. Let the other moms battle to impress each other for the SuperMom title. I. AM. OUT.

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Elizabeth was raised in Houston and met her husband Ryan shortly after graduating from Texas A&M with a journalism degree. A few years later, Grayson {Sept 2010}, turned Elizabeth’s world upside down, not only with his sparkling blue eyes and killer smile, but with his profound disabilities and diagnosis of Mitochondrial Disease. After two years of navigating the world of special needs parenting, Elizabeth and Ryan were blessed with Charlotte {Jan 2013} and Nolan {Sept 2015}, perfectly completing their party of five. Elizabeth and her crew live in Katy, and when she can steal a few moments for herself, she can be found out for Mexican food and margaritas with girlfriends, binge-listening to podcasts and audiobooks, or trying once again {unsuccessfully} to organize her closet. In addition to her role as Managing Editor of HMB, Elizabeth writes about faith, politics and special needs parenting for publications like Scary Mommy and HuffPost.You can connect with Elizabeth on Facebook,Twitter, Instagram, or


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