There is a superhero in your midst. She can't leap tall buildings. Bounding does not sound like something she remotely wants to do and most days she isn't much faster than a speeding two year old. So what does this superhero do? Well, for starters she does dishes, floors, laundry and, yes, even windows. She cleans bedrooms, playrooms, bathrooms and garages. She mows the lawn, feeds the pets, picks up after everyone and takes out the trash. Sound like menial labor to you? Consider that this woman has, at one time or another, mastered all of these tasks while cleverly disguised as a butler, a chauffeur, a therapist, a super-spy, a tutor, teacher, student, a chef, a business woman, an electrician and even occasionally, a french maid. Still not impressed? She also knows where everything is. Everything. Lost homework gets found before you can say "A plus". She can find anyone's shoes, coats, backpacks, tie-tacks and cell phones. She knows where to find missing tools, missing glasses, and missing teenagers. She has an extraordinary super woman complex, a to-do list that stretches to infinity and ends only when there is peace on Earth and total order in the universe. And as dusk falls across the nation you can hear the call.........."Bedtime? This looks like a job for Butmom!"
Chore time? Bath time? Time for homework? It's Butmom to the rescue each and every time! Time to get out of bed and get ready for school? Put in a call to Butmom. She'll arrive and wake each sleepy child. Butmom will even wake the teenagers two, three, twenty times, if that's what it takes to get everyone to the bus on time. And does Butmom receive gratitude and adoring praise for her efforts? Usually it is not so much a shout of "hurrah", but a long and drawn out, whining cry of "Butmom!" that reaches her ears. "Butmom, I'm tired! Butmom, I hate school! Butmom, I forgot to do my science homework!" It's a long day for Butmom, who has, by the way, attempted to change her name to Okmom. It didn't stick.
Butmom hasn't exactly received celebrity status and world wide recognition either. No comic books devoted to her acts of heroism. No movie deals. People outside of her home generally know Butmom only by her alter-ego, "Justmom", a disguise so good, that she is often thought to be an expert on daytime television and chocolate bon-bons. How blind the world is.
My family recently moved. The kids rushed through the new house upon arrival, each eager to lay claim to the best bedroom. Territory established, they rummaged through the house, searching for familiar boxes and long-lost possessions. It was Butmom to the rescue at every cry of "I'll never find it! It's lost forever!" Once every missing box and article had been recovered, it was staggering how quickly the children re-established order in their own, private corners of the universe. The rest of the house was a different story. One week after our arrival, the kids left their tidy rooms, feet dragging, to catch the bus. I thought cheerfully to myself that this might be a good time to go through some of the remaining boxes and put the rest of the house together.
I stepped lightly down the stairs and turned the corner to be faced with complete chaos. All my neatly organized and ready to be sorted boxes had been ransacked by children looking for lost nick-knacks and baseball gloves. Empty boxes had been thrown into the mix, still stuffed with newspaper and someone seemed to have built a small fort in the center of it all. So much for unpacking. Someone was going to have to put this whole mess back together first. I considered my options and heaved a sigh as I realized that this was a job for Butmom. There was no echoing cry of "Butmom!" ringing through the house. There was no whining. But I did whimper, quietly, to myself, while my imaginary cape fluttered in the non-existent breeze.
