The uber mom.
I'm not good at picking them out of a crowd.
Today, I took the 11-year-old to his end-of-season soccer awards ice cream social.
They ever so wisely scheduled it for 6pm.
On a school night.
Because so many parents can instantly transport home after work at 5pm, magically blink a dinner into existence, and get their children to sit and eat it with enough time left over to wash up, put on shoes, and then drive over to the event.
I show up at this ice cream frenzy straight from work towing a pre-teen who, due to other extra-curricular activities, hasn't had a chance to have supper. Nor have I.
And I found myself standing next to a woman I actually recognize.
She and I have a lovely visit until she begins to tell me how silly one of her children was for thinking they'd have supper after the soccer thing.
"Why no! We must eat supper first. Do you think we'd eat ice cream before supper?" she relayed the conversation they'd had. Then she laughed.
"Well," I replied, "we didn't get that luxury."
"We didn't get supper, yet."
Her face went odd.
And suddenly she excused herself.
Abandoned, I stood there feeling like a leper.
Fortunately, another mom showed up. One I know for a fact would pick food off the floor, blow it off and feed it to her kids.
After they'd had ice cream first.
After she told me how she'd taken a power nap at work while reading tech manuals, we sat together in a corner making fun of everyone else.
The evening was a salvaged.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
The uber mom.