My friends make fun of my many costume changes in the day. I carry a large bag with several changes of clothes. We meet for an early yoga class. We are all in various leggings and tank tops. Another layer for warmth is added while we drink tea and solve society’s puzzles after class. Out of my large bag I throw on a dress to wear over my yoga clothes to the kids’ school. Today I am the volunteer who runs the office while the school secretary goes to lunch. After lunch I head to a tennis lesson where a different outfit is required, different shoes. It requires planning ahead- getting this bag ready for the day. Mom clothes. Yoga clothes. Tennis clothes. Subbing clothes. The many roles one plays in a day creates a need for various costumes. In my earlier days as an actress in Los Angeles I would carry many changes of clothes in my car for different auditions. It was a good day when there was more than one audition and a change of clothes was needed. It was a good day when there was any audition at all. At this point in my life I don’t miss the audition, in a sense, I already have the job now. My tribe is formed of the many women who put in countless hours volunteering at school in hopes of creating better worlds for our offspring. We practice yoga to be present and fit. We know we are privileged to spend a day as we do. We are keepers of our family calendars, shuttlers to the children’s activities, homework checkers, and maker of many meals.
Blessings all of it: inordinate amounts of time spent in cars shuttling offspring to different after-school activities, sneaking girl time to refresh when possible, laundry -so much laundry, listening to our children, wanting to be available to them. These are the moments of our day.
Today was parent teacher conference at school. My teacher came out of her classroom and asked me why I was there. Turns out our appointment is tomorrow. Not only was I a half hour early for the conference but turns out I was also a day early too.
I text my tribe to share the funny mishap. “Come to yoga,” writes one. “I don’t have a change of clothes or I’d be there,” I respond. I don’t have my large bag packed. I am without my costumes. “But you are super mom,” writes another. “Yes,” I say. I am a superhero but my son’s teacher doesn’t know it. She hasn’t seen my cape. My bag. But my friends know. They share my status. They believe in superheroes too. It takes one to know one.
Indeed we will go to the conference tomorrow. On time. Correct date. In fact, my husband will join me. Most likely we will discuss offspring’s creativity but lack of organization. He’s so bright but so disorganized. He likes to talk. He knows about everything. We will be so on it. Not missing a beat of his childhood, navigating carefully, no mis-steps. No stone unturned. But here’s where my certainty waivers. I know he marches to his own beat. I know he talks a lot. He sees a lot. Questions a lot. Is that not part of his costume, his genetic super-heroism if you will? Quite literally, if you’ve spent much time at our house you’ve witnessed his many costume changes. It’s not that I think he, or I, or any of my supermom friends are special. A superhero to me is any of us showing up in our lives, present, ourselves. Maybe all it takes to be a superhero is to recognize your powers and help others see their own when their supervision isn’t developed enough to see it themselves.
Thank you to the friends and teachers who see the best in me and my children. May we all lovingly return the same love and sight.
“Namaste,” my friends and I say as we bow our heads at the end of yoga class.
Namaste, meaning I bow to the divine in you.
Namaste, I see the superhero in you.
-Mary Faulkner Turriff
