portrait of betsy
she’s a supermodel. six feet tall without stilettos. style for days. impeccable taste. she’s a mom. she’s a MILF. she’s a mod martha stewart with a passion for sunshine and high design.
she’s a superhero. mom to three boys. chef. chauffeur. caretaker. cakemaker. grocery grabber. homework checker. dog walker. sidewalk chalker.
she is everything to everyone when daddy is away.
“i don’t know how you do it,” they say.
she smiles and brushes it off. she doesn’t know either.
she plows through every day. because she has to. because she wants to. because she loves to.
her mommy superpowers get her through.
she’s strong. she’s caring. she’s organized. she’s devoted.
she’s invisible. she does it so well that the effort goes unnoticed. she does it so well because it’s expected and she can’t disappoint. she makes it look easy…though behind the scenes it barely comes together. “her best” is so good that they just can’t see…
and then someone does see.
in between drop offs and pickups and the countless errands that fill her day, she stops at starbucks. fill ‘er up. fuel to function. energy for the endless day ahead.
“grande skim latte!” the cashier yells from behind the counter. today like any other day.
and then the pattern interrupt.
“i just have to tell you that you have the nicest eyelashes i’ve ever seen.”
like a blast of kryptonite, she’s crushed. pools well up in her big brown eyes.
in that moment, she is seen... for her beauty. as a woman. as a person. as someone other than “a mom.”
she is wonder woman. gold bangles. wellie boots. with the power to spin a million plates on any given day. she is everything to everyone.
she is an unsung hero.
she is a mom. but she is also more.