Super Mom

Since becoming a mother, I realize I've obtained special superpowers.

Like the amazing ability to leap over a child-created masterpiece Megablocks tower in a single bound.

Uncanny super hearing that rivals Lassie. I can detect the most minute toddler toot from anywhere in the house (and unfortunately due to my ridiculously good sense of smell, tell you what the tooter had for lunch).

I have such sinewy strength I've been known to hold both my kids (have you seen these two?!), one in each arm while navigating over our pup's massive pile of poop (have you seen this dog?!?!).

While I don't have X-ray vision, I've got something much better! My fierce and icy stare causes my daughter to stop in her tracks, sometimes tremble, and even cry before I've uttered a single sentence. My son, on the other hand, must wear special secret contacts, because my ghastly glance seems to have much less an effect on him.

But I do have a pretty original talent that even the Marvel heroes can't touch. I can still cut off my pee midstream faster than a speeding bullet. This is thanks to the kegel exercises recommended by my OB/GYN. He had scared me so bad into thinking after my kids were born I would not be able to walk without peeing on myself unless I performed a plethora of pelvic squeezes-like three million a day-seriously).

In fact, I saw him today for my annual exam. And I don't think it's a complete coincidence that my long of list heroic skills popped into my mind while I drove home from my doctor visit. I think I just needed a reminder of my superhuman abilities after another less-than-empowering trip to the gyno. (Perhaps I needed some affirmation after allowing a person I see just once a year poke me with ice-cold instruments in my private parts while I remain calm and try to distract us both with tales of my recent epic exploits . . . hey, I think I can add that to my superpower list too. Take that, Hulk.

Muffin Music

I need my kids more than they need me. And here's proof. . .

The county had a two-hour school delay. You know, three icy puddles or even a few shiny oil spots that Cletus left behind keeps us off the roads in these parts. Since we had some extra A.M. time, I made semi-homemade muffins this morning. (You know the trick where you add one or two "healthy" ingredients to a pre-made mix likely heavenly-laden in extra sugar, fat or some other delicious delicacy, I mean, ingredient). So as I sprayed the nonstick oil in the little circles in the baking pan, wondering how in the world I'll be cleaning the Pam residue off my walls and counter, my daughter looked up from her drawing at the kitchen table and says, "What nice music!? I love it, Mom!"

I whirled around from my stovetop stupor expecting to find her listening to her dad's Itouch (off limits!) or to simply confirm that something else isn't working quite up to par on this nearly 39-year-old body, because I did not hear any tunes tinkling. "What music, honey?"

"The music you made in the pan, as you sprayed each little cup," she said looking very confused, as if she too was wondering about my hearing ability. And sure enough, I took the Pam out of the pantry, held the muffin pan in the air, and resprayed each circle. This time not even considering the oily mess left on the wall and floor. And it did make a sweet little noise, a slightly different tone in each of the tin cups. And it was nice.

"Oh, I like that. Thanks," I said. My daughter smiled and went back to her drawing, probably a little curious why I thanked her.

So you see that's why I need my children so much. They are constantly helping me notice the beauty that surrounds me every day. Much like the paint marks my son left on his big sister's dresser that bled through his art paper last week, well maybe that's not a great example . . .