Confessions of a failing Super Oberg

Most people think that their mother is incredible and talented and can do just about anything.

The truth is, I don't just think those things,

my mom is all those things.

But not just my mom.

Her whole family is.

My mother's maiden name is "Oberg", and pretty much everyone within a 100 mile radius of Palmer, Alaska knows the Oberg family. 

My grandparents have been dairy farmers; they have had their own catering business; they have served two missions for our church (each lasting two years); they built their home; they also built another rental home on their property a little over five years ago...by themselves....and my grandpa is in his mid 80s;

Grannie can sew anything; Grandpa has built his own cars, planes, and tractors; 

they are both expert gardeners;

there is hardly a person in the Mat-Su valley who hasn't been blessed by their generosity and service;

and they have six kids, thirty-something grandchildren, and who-knows-how-many great grandchildren.

They are the epitome of superheroes disguised as senior citizens.

All of their children are following quite nicely in their footsteps
and their grandchildren are no exception. 

I just come from an amazing family of Super Obergs!
 Ba-ba-da-ba!!

Having been born an Oberg, I have always expected (since the time I was a kid) to someday be a super cook, super seamstress, super gardener, super handy-woman and home-decorator, super athlete, and super mom of eight kids.

That's just what Obergs do!

Fast forward 15 or so years to the present,

and I am struggling to do my Oberg name proud (at least as of late).
Case in point:

Although my Super Oberg mom had me baking on a regular basis from the age of 11,

 I still can't make a decently-shaped pinch roll to save my life.

I'm not the worst cook,

but even my ego-boosting-of-a-husband can't deny that I have made some wildly unsuccessful culinary inventions lately.

 I butchered (and I mean butchered) a few sweater dresses I was trying to make for Kenadie the other day.
How can I share the same DNA as super-sewer Grannie!?

I think I am the only Oberg grand daughter who hasn't (nor has the desire to) run a half marathon. 

Actually, it's worse.  I've never even run a 5K!  

A 5K seems kind of challenging to me right now (and I am quite embarrassed to admit this).

My home decorating/renovating skills are pretty much non-existent.
My apartment, to put it gently, looks like "blah".

And to top it off:

I only have ONE kid, people! 

A SuperOberg should be able to run up Mount Kilimanjaro with five kids on their back (all wearing home-spun wool sweaters), build a barn at the top, and have a pot of beef stew (made with homegrown veggies, of course) ready by 6pm sharp!
  

In the Mount Kilimanjaro metaphor,
I only have one kid on my back
and  I think I'm somewhere close to the bottom of the mountain
complaining about a pebble in my shoe.

Either being a Super Oberg is just really, really hard
or I am just a little slow.....

 I'd like to claim the former,
but whatever the case
I am still determined to dig deep and pull out the Super Oberg-ness that I know (or hope) must be in there somewhere.
I am going to get into killer shape,
learn to sew,
become a handy woman around the home (and make it look pretty),
whip up the world's yummiest soup from refrigerator left-overs (how does Grannie do that!?)
and bake perfectly round pinch rolls.

Most importantly,
I am determined to at least become a Super-Oberg-kind-of mom to however many kids I have (because eight kids seems like A LOT more now than it did when I was ten years old!).

Oberg women may have a reputation for having the kind of voices that carry across ten acres
and practically burst a child's eardrum when being told to "finish those chores, or else!!!",
but Oberg women are also some of the most compassionate, nurturing, and loving women I know.
They are super moms.
I look at my Grannie who still makes Christmas gifts for all the grandchildren, feels weird if she hasn't made dinner for someone else at least 3 times a week, and teaches the Sunbeams every Sunday (who all think she's the greatest, by the way),
and I really hope that I got some of those Super-Oberg-mom genes.
If that is the only way that I ever fit in to all the amazing-ness of my family,
then I'll be pretty darn satisfied.
Besides, lop-sided pinch rolls still taste just as good, right?