Sandra Decker is superwoman to the fourth power.

Brace yourself. J.C. Wiatt is a wimp.

J.C., heroine of the film and the TV series “Baby Boom,” stands as the paragon of a modern single woman “having it all”--the catch phrase in which “all” means both career and motherhood and maybe a little hanky-panky. J.C. trips comically through business problems while giving first priority to an adorable little girl.

There has been talk, by the usual suspects, that “superwomen” like J.C. are harmful role models, driving America’s women crazy from depression as they beat their heads bloody against the wall of time, trying to be simultaneously Betty Crocker, Andrew Carnegie and Salome of the Seven Veils.

Women subject to such depressions are warned to stop reading. What follows will really send them to Valium City.

Sandra Decker is superwoman to the fourth power. She’s a single professional woman with 4-year-old quadruplets.

Decker, a CPA with a Woodland Hills office, lives with her quads, three girls and a boy, in a three-bedroom house in West Hills. There, they quietly celebrated Hanukkah one night this week.

Actually, it was not quiet. If cute was gold, the precocious blond quads would be Fort Knox, but they generate pandemonium the way cyclotrons do shattered atoms.

Decker put four small menorahs on the kitchen table. Jessica wanted more candles. Decker tried to light Jeffrey’s and stopped: “Anna, get off the table.”

She tried again, teaching Jeffrey the Hebrew prayer for the occasion: Baruch Atta Adonai . . . (Praised are you, O Lord . . .)

When she moved on to the girls, Jeffrey slipped away and began tearing open a bag.

“Jeffrey, you cannot look at the presents yet.”

While Jeffrey was being hauled unhappily back to the table, Elyssa found she could relight a burnt-out wooden match in the candle flame. A new toy.

Decker swept away the burning match, returned Jeffrey to his chair, lifted Anna from the table and lighted Jessica’s candles.

“Mommy, Jeffrey’s getting fire on his foot.”

Momentary alarm, but it was only melted wax.

“It’s OK, darling. Now repeat this after me: Baruch . . . “

For gifts, all got books. Jeffrey got toy trucks. The girls got “diamond” necklaces and earrings Decker made from cut glass and string. “That’s all the girls have been talking about getting, diamond necklaces,” Decker said.

“Mommy, I’m hungry.”

The quads bit into apple doughnuts. A thunderclap of silence filled the house for several seconds.

“One day they got up early and decided to make breakfast for me,” Decker said. “There were 18 broken eggs on the floor.”

She pointed out attachments in doorways where gates were once mounted. “But by the time they were a little over 2, Jeffrey started learning to build ramps so they could climb out. I took almost everything out of the bedroom they were in. Then one day Jeffrey took apart the beds and the mattresses and made a ramp and they all jumped over the gate.

“It was irritating, but I was also proud of him for being so clever.”

Clever Jeffrey later found a Times photographer’s unguarded electronic flash unit and staged his own light show. His sisters cheered him on until he taught them to work it too.

“For a couple of years I had no furniture in the front room at all,” Decker said. “You can still see the hole in that wall where the bolt held the wall my father built around the fireplace. They got over that somehow, and I found four very dirty little children in the fireplace.”

Jessica climbed on her lap, trying to put something in her ear.

“Jessica dear, Mommy’s talking. You’re not being funny.”

“Yes I am,” Jessica replied indignantly.

Decker is a slim, attractive 38-year-old with curly reddish-brown hair. The quads came unexpectedly into her life. The romance with their father, after several attempts, “just didn’t work out,” she said. They never married, but the children have his last name, Rosen.

She gets “adequate” financial support from him, she said, and she runs an office that specializes in tax matters for small businesses.

How is she doing financially?

“Don’t ask. It is just unbelievably expensive.”

The quads go to a preschool on weekdays. She hires a woman to help “so I can leave the house to shop.” Some nights she cooks dinner. Others it’s McBurgers for five. “I clip coupons like crazy.”

Like many accountants, she works 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, during income tax season from January to April. The rest of the year she works about 6 days a week. She confessed that sometimes on weekends a baby-sitter watches the quads “and I go to the office for a few hours just to sit in the quiet, even if I don’t have much work.”

She takes night courses to keep up her professional qualifications and is on committees for Jewish civic groups. Does she feel like superwoman?

“No. Other people have neat closets. We don’t.

“Sometimes it gets to me. This morning I must have done 10 loads of laundry, and then I found the three girls had decided to help by stripping all their bedding and piling it on the floor. I got a little crabby. But later on I told them, ‘You know, you guys are really special.’ And Jeffrey put his arm around me and said “Well, that’s because you’re our Mommy.’ ”

Her voice broke. “That makes it kind of worth it.”

She had to go. Jessica had somehow wedged herself into a bookshelf 6 feet off the floor.

Years from now, the four little Rosens may remember the Hanukkah when Mom gave out “diamonds” on colored string. By that time, they’ll probably realize that at least one of the jewels in their house was real.