Housewife Olympics

The summer Olympics are spectacular.  When I think of how hard these athletes work (even those people shooting clay pigeons) it is mind boggling.  All those hours.  All those injuries.  Stress.  Lost sleep.  Missed time with friends.

You know what? I think I'm an Olympian of sorts.  No, I can't do a triple flip off a diving board or on a balance beam.  I certainly can't run.  God knows you won't catch me riding a bike for 34 miles.

If you look at the list of what it takes to be an Olympic champ, most moms can check off every single one.  Hours upon hours of time dedicated directly to achieving the goal of raising up a decent human being.  Countless hours of lost sleep nursing an infant, catching puke in an old ice cream bucket, or sewing a Halloween costume.  And injures?  Cracked nipples, stepped-on toes, stretch marks, bad bladder, pregnancy brain, and so on and so forth.

Hey, if surfing Pinterest was an Olympic sport I would at least win a bronze.  

Sure, watching the Housewife Olympics wouldn't be nearly as entertaining as the real thing.  No one wants to watch a 33-year-old woman in yoga pants and an Obama '08 t-shirt bake scones while listening to 1990's hip hop classics.

To all parents out there, you are all champs! Now, let me get back to my Malbec and women's gymnastics. While the Housewife Olympics happen every day, the summer Olympics only happen every four years.