Super Mom

You and I know her. With her perfectly aerobicized body, she gently steers her preschooler towards his swimming lesson while carefully cradling her 8 month old who is dressed to the nines in matching Hannas, fur-lined boots and hat ("because you never can bundle them up enough"). This is the woman who has volunteered to be the classroom mother, the fundraising chair, the food drive coordinator, the editor of the school newsletter, etc. while also managing to work part-time, plan vacations abroad or across the country every month, ski, jog every morning, attend book club meetings, have her hair washed, combed and makeup applied with perfection.

This woman never has acne.

This woman, I'm convinced, has never seen cellulite.

This woman has no grey hairs.

How does she do all this?

Does she sleep?
Is she addicted to methamphetamines?
Is she a robot?

The mind boggles...

In the middle of relaying to her my potty-training woes, this woman casually mentions that her son, "Bobby" one day at age 3 decided that he was done with diapers and that was that. He was fully trained. (!) (wow)
This is the same woman who put her son in ski school shortly after. Bobby is now enrolled in ice skating, swimming, music, gymnastics, tai kwon do and soccer lessons. Bobby has been to the Symphony. He has been exposed to Modern Art. He knows some French, Spanish and a little Mandarin Chinese. He has travelled to London and Madrid. She has toured 12 kindergartens even though he will not be attending until the year after next. Bobby is only four.

At a recent princess-themed birthday party, Bobby showed up dressed as a Knight--chain mail and all---and his little sister was dressed in a velvet cape, tulle dress and tiny pink ballet slippers. "I picked up the Knight's costume on a whim" Super Mom says. (yeah, right) I, unfortunately showed up at the same event with greasy hair and my tee-shirt on inside-out. My daughter's hair was so matted that dreadlocks were forming. Her tights were bunched up around the ankles. I looked over at C and noticed that he had this mornings' yogurt still encrusted on his face.

Oh, well.

Don't get me wrong. I am not jealous of this woman. In fact, I admire her.
It's hard to be jealous of someone so friendly and so good-hearted. It's hard to be mean and bitchy toward someone who has bought 6 copies of my book and promoted me at various functions. It's hard to hate someone who only has positive, upbeat things to say about everyone. It's hard to be catty about someone whom you know would never stab you in the back.

I'm hoping one day she will invite me to her house so I can find out where she keeps her dirty laundry (literally)
I'm looking for a crack somewhere...anywhere...that will show me that this woman is human.