As a mom to three girls ages 8, 11 and 14, I find myself dashing through life like an endurance event — an Olympic decathlon 24/7, 365 days a year. It’s a daily race over hurdles and obstacles, often ending by collapsing on the couch sometime after 9 p.m.

But there’s one thing I could do that would make my life so much easier.

Surrender to motherhood.

If I surrendered to motherhood, my family would be the ever-so-grateful recipients of 100 percent of my time and attention. Like the genie from “Aladdin,” their wish would be my command.

There would be no conflicts if I surrendered to motherhood, because I would have endless patience and energy to spare.

My children would bask in my devotion and my husband would probably appreciate some extra love, too. Even the dog would benefit from some one-on-one time.

I could be Supermom.

Need a batch of homemade cookies made last minute before a school event? No problem. Sixth-grade Room Mom? Sign me up. Wake up daily at 5:30 a.m. to make hot breakfast for five? Call me Julia Child Huffman.

If I surrendered to motherhood, I wouldn’t want to have this job at the newspaper. I’d stay home. All the chores and errands I normally cram into the end of the day would be leisurely accomplished while the little darlings are away at school.

Clothes would be perfectly ironed. The exploding closet upstairs would be neatly organized with labeled bins for each type of toy. School photos from the current year would be properly framed and displayed. I could finally figure out a window treatment for that odd-sized window in our bedroom. I might get back onto that treadmill. Or not.

Oh, the projects I would cross off my list, check, check, check!

Yet I resist surrendering completely to motherhood. Between homework, laundry, dinner, school lunches and volleyball games, I still want time for me.

Time to read a good book or trashy magazine, time to e-mail a friend or scrapbook. Quiet time. Time to just think. Time to daydream.

All the parenting magazines say the same thing. Mom needs to make time for Mom. Well, it’s a lot easier to write it than to live it. By nature, we are the caregivers, the nurturers, the motherers. We ought not do it. We can’t help ourselves. Our lives are one big traffic light permanently set on green for go.

Yet I know what I signed up for. These kids were no accident. There was a plan, and it’s called a family.

People to build a life around, and love and cherish, no matter how mad they make you or how much they talk back to you.

It’s about saying goodnight with a kiss and good morning with a hug. It’s cheering them on at that volleyball game, even when the ball doesn’t make it over the net, taking their pictures in the exact same spot on the first day of every school year, and even writing a column about them.

Which explains the title at the top of this column.

If I can pull it off and my family can put up with it, this column will provide a glimpse into the here and now of family life and how at least one mom puts family first, but tries not to leave herself behind.

It wasn’t easy getting here. Like talks between five superpowers, negotiations began and compromises were agreed upon. There are some ground rules.

If any of said family members, including the grownups, gets kicked out of school, arrested or does anything else really stupid, I’ll probably have to leave that part out.

Gratuitous quoting of certain teenage children will be avoided. I won’t intentionally humiliate or rub salt in any wounds. I’ll avoid naming names when I can.

For the record, my column will be by no means a complete picture of the family. In the interest of space and well, interest, I’ll excerpt, edit, condense and otherwise mangle our happenings to fit into this space.

I don’t expect writing this column will be easy. It may not even be fun. I don’t know — I’ve never done this before. (And after drafting my first few columns, I’m telling you Kevin Courtney makes it look a lot easier than it is.)

Come to think of it, this column could be one big flop. Maybe only five of you will read it, and the Register online commentators could descend on it as though it were prey.

So in advance, I apologize to Don, Annabelle, Allie and Ava. I hope I don’t embarrass you or cause any unfortunate nicknames to be earned. Thank you, my dear family, for indulging me. I love you and would do anything for you. I give you almost everything of myself.

In the end, I surrender, but I don’t give up.