LSS: Tales of an ex-superhero

By the end of the week, I was all tuckered out and felt a lot like an ex-superhero.
Or maybe the superhero who never was.
The cold, hard truth is that I am not the mother I thought I would be.
Though I am confident the mother I thought I would be is surely as real as the superheroine Wonder Woman—either the Lynda Carter or the DC Comics version.
Starting this column, I was a sorry, bedraggled sight. The towel around my wet head impersonating a cape was as close to superhero as I could get. The prospect of writing, much less what followed was enough to do me in. Instead, it was time to go to bed and absorb some pabulum-for-the-brain television before dozing off to sleep. Yet, my day was not done.
The colder and harder truth I had to face was on Thursday evening the closer the clock got to midnight, the closer I was to leaving the house again.
For me, the task I faced required near superhero strength.
Generally speaking, the mother I thought I would be would not have found herself with wet hair, a make-up-less face and clothes that could use an iron. That woman would have been as dressed up and excited about the night’s events as my 13-year-old daughter.
But the best the mother I am could do is manage a trip to Goodwill earlier in the afternoon. For about $14, the 13 year old and I created a rather good Hermione Granger outfit, complete with an appropriately colored tie, for her to wear to the final midnight Harry Potter premier.
The mother I thought I would be would have sewn capes for the pair of us. But as I mentioned, I have come to terms with the fact that I am not that woman. The best I could do, at the end of a busy day of work and a long week getting back into the swing of reality after our family vacation, required a lot less than energy than a hand-sewn cloak of invisibility.
You see, the mother I thought I would be lived long before I had any idea of what being a parent required. She had no comprehension of the enormous sum of energy required to make family life work on the most basic level, much less on a level that resembled anything that resembles picture perfect.
For my 13 year old, the last of the Harry Potter movies has been an epic event. When I was growing up, my friends and I rarely re-read books, but my daughter has read the Harry Potter books repeatedly. There are large swaths of dialogue that she happily quotes.
Perhaps her generation re-reads books because technology has allowed them the blessing (and curse) of re-watching movies, sometimes too often. Whatever the reason, she seems to find the repetition a comfort regardless of what anyone else thinks.
For her, the final Harry Potter movie represented the end of an era. She has grown up with Harry Potter. He has been her friend and shown her a way to find just enough magic to get by in a world full of muggles.
Even though I have found a certain peace with non-superhero momhood, I found myself spending the wee hours of Friday morning sitting in a movie theater watching my daughter’s generation’s good versus evil epic tale.
Spoiler alert:
Even in this day and age, despite unfathomable obstacles, good wins.
No super hero required.

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