Sometimes I think we underestimate just how much of ourselves we pour into this “mom” role. We push, we hustle, we keep going because there’s always someone needing something. And then comes a weekend like this past one where my body simply hit pause.

I woke up Friday morning feeling awful, like I’d been knocked over by a flu truck. The kind of tired where even lifting your head off the pillow feels like running a marathon…hello Spring! 

The timing couldn’t have been worse (is there ever a good time to be sick when you have kids?). The boys, of course, were their usual high-energy selves, bouncing around with enough energy to light up the whole neighbourhood.

All I wanted to do was log off work and collapse. Cooking? Out of the question. Chef duties were cancelled, and takeaways came to the rescue, something the boys didn’t mind one bit. For them, it was a treat. For me, it was survival. But what they didn’t understand was that I needed to lay down. And the “supermom” in me just couldn’t cape up this time.

And that’s when Superdad entered the scene.

He came home, shrugged off the workday, swapped his uniform for sweats, and got straight to it no complaints, no hesitation. Within minutes, my boys had their teammate, coach, and playmate all in one. The lounge was transformed into a mini play area/ cinema, filled with cheers and laughter. Meanwhile, I did the unthinkable: I rested. Properly. I ended up taking advantage and had two whole days of uninterrupted, blissful rest.

And here’s where I admit something I often joke that being the only girl in the house has its perks. There’s a special kind of advantage to being a “boy mom.” Whenever Big Boy comes running with questions about wrestling moves, soccer tricks, or anything that involves sweat, mud, or bugs, I get to pull out my favourite line: “Ask Daddy, I’m a girl.” It doesnt always work but at times it works like a charm. And honestly, it’s not just an excuse, it’s a blessing to have a partner who’s always willing to step in, whether it’s to tie soccer boots, play goalkeeper, or explain why we don’t need to keep beetles in our pockets.

By Sunday morning, I finally felt like a human again. I got up, stretched, and followed the sound of giggles outside. What I saw melted me: our eldest running soccer drills with dad in the garden, like a little training camp. Whistles, instructions, laughter, it had it all. And inside, baby brother was fast asleep, content and peaceful.

I stood there quietly, not wanting to break the moment. Because it reminded me of something so important: being “Supermom” doesn’t mean doing it all, all the time. Sometimes, the bravest thing is stepping back and letting Dad step in.

And honestly? That’s where the magic happens.

My boys got something even better than me running around half-sick, trying to keep it together they got their dad, fully present, fully engaged, and loving every second. And I got the reminder that as much as I want to be the cape-wearing, everything-doing, always-there mom, sometimes the greatest gift is letting go.

This week has taught me that handing over the reins doesn’t just do me good it does the most for my boys.

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus 

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