Superlative Mom

I know Mother's Day was a few weeks ago, but I had to share some thoughts on a species of Mom that I have been lucky enough to befriend and admire up close in my career. It hit me the other day when I was catching up with a colleague of mine. We were sharing working mom war stories and I realized that I am playing in the kiddie pool. I've got nothing on "Superlative Mom."


She has one to three children and two to four degrees. She pumps gas in designer shoes and keeps wipes in her laptop case. On the weekend she is like the rest of us, carting kids from one activity to another, but don't mistake her for a Nanny (nothing against Nannies - love 'em, wish I had one) when she's in pony-tail, dark-rinse jeans, eye glasses and ath-leisure shoe mode, she'd b-slap you.


I complain about a wild day of work-and-momdom or a rough night of teething and ear aches and then I get to revel in a story or two from these Superlative Moms - professionals and practioners, with clients and infant carriers. She proudly paraded child number two or three in a Moby or a Bjorn across the auditorium stage to get her MBA. She closes deals on her I-Phone on the drive from the office to daycare to ballet and soccer. She cooks and hosts a full-course Martha or Mario Thanksgiving dinner the day after she returned from 4-day conference in Chicago.


Superlative Mom is insanely smart. So smart, she doesn't realize that others of us had to go into Marketing because we need our calculator to figure out what inning it is at our kid's tee-ball game. The day I locked the keys in the car, Superlative Mom probably could have texted me how to disarm the anti-theft system in less than 5 minutes.


As Superlative Mom whisks past me in a flash, heels smoking... juggling her work and family schedules with a Harvard Business School discipline, I try to pay close attention and maybe absorb a bit of her working mommy mojo. She doesn't mind, in fact - she developed a formula and is emailing me the recipe tomorrow.

Monkeying Around over Memorial Day

Dark Chocolate Cake with Banana Frosting

We celebrated our little monkey's 1st birthday with party number one at Nana and Papa's over Memorial Weekend. Rowan came away with a sports-themed toddler jungle gym among other fun 1st birthday gifts (thank you Aunt Jessie for the dapper little dude short-alls) more birthday hugs and kisses than he bargained and a new love of frosting. 



Big brother Noah was the sweetest kid, trying to urge Rowan to try the cake. And let me tell  ya, if there is a child who knows his way around a sweet, it's this one. (It's only a coincidence that my profile picture is a row of cupcakes...) Noah has a philosophy regarding treats. There are categories for use in persuading us to give in and supply said request: 1.) Snack 2.) Treat and 3.) Treat-Snack. When he asks for a snack he may also specify that he does not want the healthy kind, in fact, he's already had his quota of smart snacks for the day.  So, the mere thought of Rowan sitting there in a high-chair with an entire cake being handed to him on purpose... had Noah in tail spin. He had been asking when we were having cake since 7 a.m. that morning.



Noah patiently watched as his little brother took what seemed like an eternity in 6 year-old time, to start his trial subscription of cake-eating. Rowan sat there, staring at all of us as with most curious face I've seen on a baby. From us to the cake and back to us as if to say, "Um, this feels a lot like a set-up..." Bursting at the seams to get some good pictures, Nana put a little frosting on his lip and Rowan very deliberately got to town on that cake, making his big brother proud. I'm not sure if birthday cake constitutes a treat, a snack, a meal or a treat-snack in Noah's book, but Rowan liked it just the same. Thanks for the sweet memories, my funny monkeys!