My mild obsession with Wonder Woman began the first time I watched her on television.  The flawless Lynda Carter, her mane of raven hair, the generously filled red bustier,
and those boots. Let’s just all agree, nothing makes a woman more fierce, than an incredible pair of boots.  I was in awe.  With every inch of my being, and bustline, I wanted to be her.

Years passed and my childhood desire for superpowers, and a C cup, faded, until I became a mom.  I looked around and suddenly felt incredibly inept. All these other Wonder Woman moms were seemingly doing it all. Working, raising kids, running the PTO, organizing the church bake sale.  Hair and make-up done. Exercise classes at the Y. Meanwhile, I was sporting my sweatpants with keds and being asked to leave yoga class because I couldn’t control my laughter during Lion’s Breath.  What was wrong with me?

But there is wisdom that comes with age, and the addition of three more kids.  I discovered the shrouded truth. That perfect Wonder Woman mom doesn’t exist. It’s an illusion created with painted on smiles, Instagram and great acting.

I want to start a campaign to have Nick at Nite air the unseen Wonder Woman episodes. The time she completely lost it because the Wonder Kid spilled his drink, when she was already late to save the world. The moment where no amount of sucking it in, was going to make that star spangled bottom not bulge in all the wrong places.  The view of the transparent airplane after a day of carpool, soccer practice and dinner from a drive-thru.  The night Wonder Woman cried herself to sleep because in spite of her speedy jet, she couldn’t be every place she needed to be that day. 

As we start this journey together, I want to make one thing clear. My showing up in your inbox does not mean I have it all figured.  It’s time to remove the fourth wall of motherhood. I exist on limited sleep and multiple cups of coffee, counterbalanced by some much needed wine at 8pm.  I have been called by the school because I forgot to pick up my child. I consciously tell myself, I will not yell this morning, only to scream, “Let’s go, we are LATE!!!” before 9am.

Let’s become the new Wonder Women. The kind that are transparent with each other.  Who support, encourage and hold each other accountable.  The ones that are filled with the superpower of God’s grace. Who inevitably screw up, daily, but get back up and try it all again.

A league of Wonder Women mamas, in yoga pant uniforms, armed with a coffee mug and rocking a fierce pair of boots!

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