Our demographic may not scream athletic, but that's quickly changing (thanks to women like Dana Vollmer & Kerri Walsh Jennings). Don't discount a mom's ability to get the job done. Even though the following events are not recognized at the Olympics, they are every day struggles that us mommas have learned to dominate.
1. Sunscreen Wrestling
We are clad in our one pieces, ready to walk out the door and then it hits me- we still haven't applied sun screen. I sit down the diaper bag, lay my toddler on her back, and the wrestling match begins.
I rub down her arms and chest before she knows what's happening. She reacts swiftly, and springs to her feet. I win the takedown, intercepting her with both arms and pinning her back to the bean bag. But she's slippery and I can't keep her still. She puts both feet on my chest and uses me as a springboard to flip to her belly.
This is my chance. I straddle her back, and slather her shoulders, legs, and feet with a gob of sunscreen. She can't escape my grip, and finally taps out.
We stand up, dust ourselves off, and head to the car.
2. The Grocery Shopping Sprint
The car horn beeps to tell me it's locked, and we are off. I push that buggie with vigor, one eye on the list, the other on my toddler who has a dangerous tendency to throw apples.
We steamroll through the produce and meat counter, and bypass the other weaksauce mommy/toddler duos in the aisles without apology. I ignore her whimpers in the dairy department, postponing the inevitable meltdown. And then in fifty seven minutes flat, we arrive at the checkout.
With only three feet left to go, my toddler loses it. Just hang in there, I tell her. We are almost there. I make silly faces, and sing, and show her an Elmo video, but it's not enough. The second I realize we are standing in line behind a coupon clipper, the reality of defeat sets in.
We mope out of the grocery store feeling defeated. We'll get 'em next time.
3. Synchronized Dining
I smother the peanut butter on a second piece of bread just in time to hear the dinging of the microwave telling me my Lean Cuisine is ready. Lunch is served.
I place her PBJ on the high chair tray, and rush back to my seat. She picks up her sandwich, I pick up my fork. We keep the same pace, or else. If I eat too quickly, I'm giving up precious lunch time with an empty lap. If I eat too slowly and she finishes first, I can kiss my microwaved rice and beans goodbye. We don't make eye contact for fear of food jealousy. We stay synchronized, as I carefully focus on the task at hand.
I sense her getting antsy. Oh no, I have at least five bites left. I shovel them in. She lets out a scream just as I stand up to put my fork in the sink. Yet another flawless lunch performance in the books.
4. The 10-Yard Mommy Needs a Snack Dash
I tip toe to the hallway while she is glued to Bubble Guppies, and the race is on. I high step it to the cabinet where the leftover cookies from the weekend wait for me. But there's only one left, and Mommy doesn't share on Mondays. So I cram the cookie in my mouth and sprint back to living room finish line before she ever knows I'm gone.
The evidence is destroyed in record time.
5. The Laundry Basket Relay
I wash, I dry, I fold, she unfolds, I fold again. There's no efficient way to complete laundry with a toddler in your presence. So when nap time rolls around, it's on.
I dart down to the laundry room, baskets in tow. I'm shifty. Towels go from washer to dryer, clothes from dryer to basket. Old laundry goes in, new laundry gets folded and put away. I look up at the clock. I've got fifteen more minutes until nap time is over. So I scramble to the living room, switch on the TV, and plant myself on the couch. Mom 1, Laundry 0.