My friend and fellow athletic supermom Shaunna or as I like to call her Dr. Supermom & hashtag queen from SHEro Athletics penned this post to share. Please feel free to comment and also go visit/like her FB page so you can keep up with her.
Yes, as all of my followers have probably figured out by now — I love hashtags. There’s just something about these little subliminal messages. Ironically, people make perfectly blatant statements in a status update, Facebook post, or tweet with one of these little off-the-cuff jewels. In addition to #SHEro, one of my favorite hashtags is #mycapeneedsironing
I use it all the time!
Yeah, it’s like that some days. My friends, family, and loved ones always give credit where credit is due by saying —
“Shaunna, you are doing your thang!”
“We’re so proud of you!” “You’re always into something.”
“You need to sit down somewhere — I don’t know how you do it.”
Or one of the most flattering responses ” #inspiration”
Yes, it had even gotten to the point where my inner circle called themselves “Team Doing Too Much” — a slight head nod to those who only see what we are actually doing (not including all of the behind the scenes work). They are already screaming — you’re doing TOO much. Mmmkay *side eye*
Soooo…the perfect, not-so-perfect day of a higher education administrator, entrepreneur, marathoner, triathlete, wife, and mother of two small boys looks a little something like this…
Yes, a.m. In the morning. Even Jesus is groggy at this time of day. The alarm goes off. This is not a rest day, this is a workout day. No rest for the weary. Brush the teeth, kiss the Gold menfolk, throw some clothes in the wash, grab the gym bag, and hit the door. My training patna — Ace — is waiting.
Post to my Facebook page. Yep, shout out to all of my other athletic folks, including parents who can only get a peaceful, uninterrupted workout, run, or weights in at this time of day. No fooling around. No kee-kee-keeing just yet because my body is functioning more quickly than my brain. Shoot, I can’t even tell you how I drove here. I’m about to sleep-run, sleep-swim, something…
It is then when proly two workouts commence. A mid-distance run; strength and swim; strength and run; or bike and swim. We mix it up on the regular as triathletes. Bidness. It’s allll bidness. We can kee-kee-kee later.
Run through the shower, beat my face until it’s beautified, and throw a quick log into my iPhone app to ensure I remember the stats on my workout. (Announcement! Successful people MEASURE their goals). A quick stop at Starbucks for Mommy’s special treat. It’s time to see if the Gold menfolk are ready to roll for the day. Caffeine is the only way for me to get from here to lunch time.
Get home. Throw the wet clothes in the dryer, check to see if the menfolk are ready for school and work. Starbucks still in hand. Grab my prepared vittles and the boys lunch boxes from the fridge and hit the door.
Time for the daycare drop off. Now by this point (if it’s a good day), lunches were packed, spare clothes were ready, and I could just grab my bags…and daycare bags…and toddler bags…then hit the door. If it’s an even BETTER day, toddler has sung to me all the way to school, counted how many school buses we’ve passed, and the infant doesn’t cry when it’s time for Mommy to leave.
If it’s a BAD day, I’ve had to get a second workout in by making the mad dash up and down all three floors of the house to throw the chil’ren’s things in a bag, pray that they have enough food packed to get him through the day (I have big eaters), and wait…did I get my wallet? Cell phone? iPad? Ohh, whatever. Let’s just get the boys into school and worry about everything else later. Wrestle the shoes, coat, and hat on. Wayment…someone’s crying. Why is my toddler crying? I’on know. Not hungry. Not wet. Not in pain. Oh well, you’ll just have to cry. Turn the radio up a little bit louder.
On a good day, the manchild practically checks himself into school. “Mommy, hug and kiss…hug and kiss.” From there he throws up the deuces (“two fangas”) and says “See ya later”! Now that’s what I’m talmbout. The infant waves “bye bye” with one arm while he wobbles over to the newest toys.
This process can take either 5 minutes (good day) or 20 minutes (bad day). *insert sigh here*
Hopefully traffic is cooperating as I leave day care. Chat it up with my mom who’s finishing up her morning walk with her accountability partner (ANNOUNCEMENT! This health thing can run in the family if you make it so). If I have enough time, give Granny a call so she can ask me for the fitty-lemth time how potty training is going with the man-child. Then pull in to work. Woosah.
My beautifully organized priority list is staring at me. Yes, the phone is blowing up and I shudder to log into my email accounts (plural – yes plural). First things first — anything that CAN be delegated SHOULD be delegated. Let other folk start their work, which is connected to MY work. Then skim emails. Don’t respond unless it’s important AND urgent. The rest can wait until later. Three action items – DO, DELEGATE, or DELETE is my mantra.
Drinnk water, pee, walk around. Every hour. Drinnk water, pee, walkaround. Every hour. (Yes, this is the routine of an athletic supermom who knows that Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness is real).
Oh wait. It’s lunchtime. Did I remember to bring the lunch that I prepared? I had this beautiful piece of salmon with roasted veggies…or a huge salad with protein…or…whatever is in my bag, that’s what I’m eating.
Keep checking completed priorities off the list (while simultaneously ADDING others). Meetings, classes, phone calls, until 5 p.m. Proly 5:15 p.m. Wait…it’s 5:30 already. Sigh. Another work day has come and gone.
*Scratch the record…*
Insert Guy’s “Groove Me” lyrics.
Hold Up! Hold Up! It ain’t over! The party’s not over…!
Time to fight traffic again. This is when I finally get a chance to respond to emails. Sitting in traffic. I’on even know if this is legal or not, but last rush hour I checked? I was able to send 25 substantial emails in an hour — during what should have been a 20 minute trip. Traffic and sitting at stop lights will reduce you to this type of multi-tasking foolishness. Oh well. Squeezing blood from a turnip? Yep – squeezing 36 hours out of a 24 hour day.
Walk into the house. Kiss the Gold Menfolk. Hubs leaves for his evening workout. I’ll see him around 8:30 p.m. or so. Check the mail – trash or shred because ain’t nobody got time to clean off the kitchen table which doubles as the bill-holder-upper. Start another load of laundry. Figure out dinner. Play some games with Trai (the toddler). Put a movie on for Kendrick (the infant). Repack the bag for the gym tomorrow (to include clothes for two workouts, business attire, and a snack for Mommy).
Mommy is starting to slow down, which I can’t sit down — just on principle. If I do, I’ll be asleep before behind-hits-couch. From here, I make sure the chilren’s lunches and daycare bags are packed, charge all of my electronics for the next day, put away MORE laundry (I swear minions create laundry in my house), change toddler sheets (yes, when we were still potty training), and make sure at least one room in the whole house is clean while the Hubs is doing his thing at the gym.
Hubs calls and says he’s on his way home from the gym. That’s my signal — It’s time for the boys to finish up their baths and evening snacks, not because they want to, but because Mommy and Daddy are whipp-ed-ed. Not just tired, but WHIPPED-ED. Yes, splash around in the tub so that Mommy can fold MORE clothes while watching you in the hallway. Clean the bathroom while you’re both in the there. Now, Mommy is starting to get delirious. What time is it anyways?
Gold menfolk are clean, fed, and ready to go “Night night”. Time to play “Ring Around the Rosie” at least 5 times…and after that “One more time!” about three more times with Trai. The Kendrick already has his favorite sleep sack on, has his teddy bear playing music, and continues to gnaw on a bottle until he crashes. Back to Trai’s room…Yes, we must hug and kiss at least 3 times. Sing Jesus loves me. Say our prayers. Call out every family member’s name. Call out friends names and ask for Jesus to keep them safe.
Both little ones are knocked out. Mommy resumes answering emails until she can’t feel her fingertips slide on the iPad anymore — they’ve gone numb. Touch base with Ace — my training patna — let her know that that bag is packed, and we’re on and poppin at 4 something tomorrow morning. Again.
Watch “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” with the Hubs, think about vacation spots, and wish we could eat like Guy Fieri all the time. Set the alarm for 4:00 a.m. Set the alarm for my other accountability partners who want a wake up “ping” from me.
Yep, that’s how the average day goes in my world. Now, you all see why an athletic supermom’s cape needs ironing. It’s still on, but it ain’t perfect. And I’m not apologetic.
I was taught by a great mentor who said: “The duck looks smooth and calm on top of water. But under that water it is relentlessly paddling.” Welcome to my world.
What do your days look like? Does your cape need ironing?
this post was originally featured on the SHEro Athletics FB page on Aug 21, 2015 and reposted here with permission.
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