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I pulled into the parking lot and checked my watch. I had 3.5 minutes to get the cupcakes to Room 204 for my son Cody's homeroom party.

I reached into the backseat and lifted the foil to make sure none of my creations had been smushed, smashed, or smudged (and yes, there's a difference). And there they were—27 flawless cupcakes.

I concluded it was well worth the drive to three different stores to find the "super sprinkles" and the extra trip to the grocery store to pick up the bright blue foil wrappers instead of settling for the lifeless pastel-colored paper wrappers.

As I looked at the cupcakes, I thought, Move over, Martha Stewart. I'm Mother of the Year material! In fact, I felt I'd entered the distinctive domain of SuperMom! I could picture Cody and his classmates ooohing and ahhhing as I unwrapped each of my priceless creations. They'd praise me with, "Oh, Mrs. Borsellino. You're the best mom in the world! Cody's soooo lucky. These are the coolest cupcakes we've ever seen."

I yawned as I hopped out of the car, picked up the cupcakes, and headed down the school corridor. Staying up until midnight to work on the cupcakes had left me tired, but my payoff was just around the corner. This had been one of those weeks. I'd been running nonstop all week long: football practice, gymnastics, basketball, piano, soccer. On top of that, homework, science projects, and spelling words needed my attention. Not to mention friends after school, a sleepover on Friday, and a birthday party over the weekend. Just to finish me off, my daughter Courtney had nothing to wear—so off to the mall we went!

Yes, it was exhausting, but I love my children and would do anything for them. After all, that's what parenting is about, I reasoned.

I arrived at Room 204 and as I set down the cupcakes on the classroom table and the children gathered around, I was overwhelmed—not by gratitude, but by grief!

In a matter of seconds, 54 grubby little paws were grabbing in unison for my perfect cupcakes. Not one of them took the time to recognize the works of art I'd created. Instead, like a crowd of famished bear cubs, they grabbed my beautifully decorated marvels and gobbled them down faster than I could say, "Hi, kids." It was a feeding frenzy! I watched in horror as the children devoured their cupcakes without one bit of gratitude—not even a simple, "Thanks."

My cupcakes were a hit, but my feelings were hurt.

What about the super sprinkles that required the extra trip? What about the blue foil wrappers that said "I've gone the extra mile for you?"

Why did I feel so empty? All I could think about was calling my husband, Chuck. I wanted him to hold me and tell me how proud he was and that, even if the kids didn't recognize it, he thought I was SuperMom and he appreciated the effort I'd put into those glittering gourmet cupcakes. Then, at that moment, as I walked out of Room 204, I woke up—and realized my priorities had been misdirected.

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