Super-Mom Meryl Kearns

Supermom.  The word takes on new meaning, depending where the emphasis is placed.  SuperMOM says to me that of all the incredible super beings flying about, this one is the ever popular mom version, and in my opinion, the most valuable.  SUPERmom almost sounds like a sarcastic teen version of my son uttering it, so I choose not to go with that one as I still have a few years before we venture into the dark void of teen years.  My favourite would sound more like SUUUUPPPPPPEEERRRRRMOOOOMMMMM, as in the incredible adventures of…

My head is filled with mental pictures conjured up by such a title.  I opt here for the one of me with my pre-baby, 20-something slim body clad in tights, leotard and ever-billowing cape, with perhaps the cool bracelets borrowed from Wonder Woman, not so much for practicality but definitely the fashion statement.  The lasso of truth not opted for due to its clumsy bulk detracting from my lithe run-from-school-at-drop-off-getaways and besides, clever kids can undo those knots better than the criminal masterminds WW was up against.

And now, those aforementioned adventures… The Supermom, faster than the grabbing hands of an overtired family trying to reach for the remote on a Friday night.  More powerful than the pungent aroma escaping from whatever is buried deep in the bottom of a child’s PE bag that has not been brought home for laundering in a school term.  Able to leap tall piles of funky smelling laundry in a single bound as she runs for the phone on the last ring before it goes to voice mail.

But these are the tasks of the unsung hero known as mom.  The lady that miraculously gets the house picked up before the play date so that there are no hazards that might result in a quick jaunt to the ER (complete with sing-a-longs the whole way both ways to detract from the terror everyone feels), only to then two hours later do it all over again once the proper evil doers of mayhem have been properly returned to their rightful homes.  The woman who has to stay up to midnight relearning elementary math because some lunatic mind in academia decided we should reinvent it, tag it “new math,” and utterly frustrate parents around the country whilst making us look a tad foolish in the eyes of those we birthed as we stumble through the most rudimentary problems.  The goddess who is trying to pass off Gatorade at breakfast with Cheerios as the “breakfast of the champions” to cover for the fact that milk was forgotten during the last outing into the supermarket when the shopping list was used as a bookmark in her People magazine the night before.

But the reality is we are all Supermoms.  Every day, there is some act or gesture that makes everyone of us super.  When our child comes home sad from being excluded at recess games and we curl up together tightly and read, making the world a perfect place again.  Or when our child falls off the top bunk and we bestow the magical kiss of healing that takes it all better.  Or even just peering over at our child whilst they toil with homework and giving that brave smile that says I know you are doing your very best.

Every day, in so many ways, we are all supermoms.  And we need to stop and recognize daily how amazing we are.

Super-Mom Cybill Goldberg

When Taylor asked me if I would be the “Supermom of the Month”, I thought:  “Me?  No way!!!”  I am not even close to being a Supermom.   In my mind a Supermom spends hours baking home-made treats with her kids and doesn’t care, even a smidgen, if every ingredient ends up on the floor while the kids lick more batter than ends up being baked.  A Supermom ignores her emails/texts and denies coffee dates with friends while she does arts and craft projects with her children that she found on pinterest at midnight–and uses glitter no-less!  A Supermom packs lunches with heart-shaped-crustless sandwiches and  not a gram of partially hydrated fat and tucks in sweet thoughtful notes signed with love.  A Supermom, I am not.

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Super-Mom Sue Potas

I met Taylor on a flight back from Dallas last weekend.  Ironically I was at leadership school for my company JHilburn.  Going to Dallas I had no idea what to expect from this event. What I came home with was invaluable.  I realized that my personality style is very different that those on my team, my clients and most importantly my husband.  At the same time I was not surprised of the characteristics associated with my type..what they classify to be the “Inspirational” type.

Ironically when I started my mobile Men’s clothing business 2 1/2 years ago with JHilburn, someone asked me what is your WHY?  The “reason” I wanted to start my own business.  My “why” is my amazing husband and beautiful 3 children who INSPIRE me to challenge myself and contribute so our family can do fun things together and most importantly that one day my husband can find his dream job.

One of my favorite take-ways from the weekend is that “you can inspire someone you can not motivate them”.  This is true in all things you do-work, school, at home, in your practice or on the field.

I try to remind my kids..no one owes you. Be true to yourself and honest about the choices you make…make good Karma…not drama!

My company is experiencing a tremendous amount of momentum and growth in the Men’s clothing business.  Please contact me @sue.potas@jhilburnpartner.com if you would like to learn about a amazing business opportunity that could be life changing for you to.

Thanks for reading,
~Sue

My honeymoon started by driving through a civil war zone in Cote D’Ivoire.  This was not a good sign.  I married a man I thought I would stay with and love forever.  Our happy days together lasted about as long as a cease fire in the name-your-country in the news.  My husband was from West Africa and I grew up in a town I can only describe as W.A.S.P. central.  We moved back to the States in early 2004, I was pregnant and without a job.  He found work as a tennis coach, but couldn’t adjust to life being married. He was verbally and emotionally abusive; just plain cruel to me.  He told me he would leave me after the baby was born.  I fell in to a deep, almost psychotic depression and was hospitalized for nearly a week on the psychiatric floor at Mass General.  The beginning of the end of my marriage was my ultimate blessing.  (And, the months of therapy I went through has helped me get through things no one should have to endure.)

Although I never told anyone, I prayed for a girl.  The first born son of an African father has a burden placed upon him that I did not want on my child’s shoulders.  The day I gave birth, we split up for good.  My husband came to the hospital, but we really didn’t talk and my best friend, as planned, was with me in the delivery room.  At 2:29 AM, June 3^rd, 2004, my whole world changed.  “It’s a girl, and she’s beautiful!”,  the doctors shouted after a successful C-Section.  At that moment, I knew there was a God looking over me and that being blessed with a daughter was His way of taking care of me.

My daughter and I have gone through some struggles recently that no one should ever have to experience. After reading in January an article Taylor wrote about how to turn the news of a recent beloved teacher of her daughter’s being arrested on child pornography charges in to a reason to talk to one’s child about being safe, I talked to my daughter about being safe and where no one should touch her.   She immediately said “You mean the way ____ touches me?”.  Thus began our journey through the dealing with one’s child being molested.    Although ultimately, the DA was unable to charge the teenager, as a case with only a seven year old as a witness/victim is incredibly difficult to prosecute, I feel grateful that she was able to tell her story, be believed and get help.  With the support of family, friends, and even strangers, like Taylor, she has been able to come out of the trauma stronger and I have been able to come through a better mother.

I don’t always feel like a Super-Mom.  What I do feel every day is that I am blessed beyond what I ever imagined with my daughter and our life together!

Super-Mom Rebecca

For my family, tofu for dinner isn’t torture—it’s a treat. Centered on our Thanksgiving table is thickly sliced Tofurky, complete with stuffing that’s only seen the inside of a saucepan. And if we happen to zip through a fast food drive-through, we request our burgers “without meat.”

Raising two vegetarian daughters, now ages 5 and almost-15, has been a highlight in my experience as a so-called (thanks, Taylor!) Super-mom. Being vegetarian myself since 1991, there was no doubt that I’d one day lead my children down the same compassionate, healthy-eating path that I’d discovered. What I didn’t expect was that it would be such a joyful, bonding experience for me and my girls—or that it’d be as easy as it has been, for all of us.

When my teenager was a toddler, I searched high and low for books that would help her understand why she ate differently from other kids. I worried that my guidance wouldn’t be enough—that she’d be teased and pressured and start sneaking steaks at friends’ houses or hoarding hamburgers in her desk drawers. Besides my uncle, who we rarely saw, we knew no other vegetarians. And though our family and friends were supportive, I dreaded the seemingly-innocent-yet-in-reality-heavy questioning I knew she’d get from strangers wanting to know why she “didn’t eat meat.”

But there wasn’t a vegan version of Pinkalicious (Veggie Girl Extraordinaire, standing up to the broccoli-hating bullies!), as I’d hoped to find. There wasn’t a how-to guide for dealing with birthday parties where only pepperoni pizza was served. There was no script for answering the relentless, inevitable question, “But… how does she get protein?”. I was on my own. And like any Super-mom, I did the best I could to teach my child, and to navigate through whatever sensitive, awkward situations arose.

But really, there weren’t that many. Kids weren’t cruel, they were curious. Adults joked, but my girls both developed confidence in their beliefs—not because of anything a manual could have “instructed” me to teach them. It was more “walking the talk”—together. Being vegetarian, for us, is about respect for life, respect for the planet and respect for our health. And, it turns out, when little, everyday actions revolve around these concepts (carrying spiders outside instead of “squashing” them, for example), you build a solid foundation of thoughtfulness, compassion and intelligence that no snickering over a sans-meat sandwich in your lunchbox can shake.

We got, and still get, a lot of questions. But never have my girls been embarrassed of, or shy about, being vegetarian. In fact, they’re quite the opposite. My five year old asks for extra veggie dogs to share with her preschool friends. And my 15 year old would be more than happy to tell you a thing or two about cruelty-free makeup. Me? This Super-“Veg”-mom hopes to, one day, pen a story starring an adventurous, strong vegetarian girl character who fuels up on tofu and leaps factory farms in a single bound. Goodness knows, I’ve got the inspiration.