Comparisons

One of my first blog posts, (before I had a blog) was called Super Mom.  I posted it on one of those face book notes. 

“How many of us compare ourselves to "Super Mom". Super Mom gets up at four makes a four course breakfast for her entire family. She then wakes them all up with warm drinks. Super Mom can iron two baskets of laundry in 2 minutes flat and the clothes look brand new... Super Mom cooks supper for a family of 20 ensuring that all special dietary needs are taken care of. She actually manages to even feed little Billy who is diabetic with extreme intolerance to lactose and wheat, allergic to nuts, fish, pork, mushrooms, eggs, gelatin and fruit.......

Guess what she is a myth. My one daughter told me how wonderful her friend's Mom was (aka Super M) I could even see the red cape with the Big M. This Super M brought hot drinks for everybody in the morning made the entire family breakfast and packed lunches for all. Getting up in the morning is not my favourite thing I hang on to every single second that I can stay in bed especially in winter.

I would often over the years lie in bed and berate myself. I got myself as far as getting up early and actually making breakfast for any child that writes an exam and sadly that is as far as my Super M status went.

A few weeks ago Super M's cape was busted. My daughter mentioned something that she never thought vital to tell me before . She told me that the daughter of Super M was always sick. When I enquired why, she informed me that their house was disgustingly dirty.




The point is no matter how often I tell myself to stop this shit. I keep comparing myself.


I compare myself to other bloggers. I forget how much I love blogging and I do. I have fun with every blog. Instead I get down on myself and compare, compare and compare some more.






I compare myself to other parents. I have three beautiful daughters who are wonderful human beings. So why compare?






I compare myself to other working women. Why am I so dreadful at keeping my house tidy? Why do I hardly ever make the beds? Why do I let laundry pile up?






I compare myself to other writers. My grammar is terrible should I even be a writer?






I compare myself to people with many friends. Why do I have so few, is there something wrong with me?






I compare myself to slender people. Why am I not working on my diet? Why am I not exercising often enough?


Then I have magical days when one compliment from a stranger on my blog or a client that I am writing for, turns me around. I feel on top of the world and I remember that I can.






I asked Michael:


“Am I fickle to let little things sway my emotions so easily?






He replied:


“No, you are a woman”