Things aren't always what they seem

Tonight was karate night and I took Sam by myself. Lately I have been dropping him off and picking him up in an hour, but tonight he didn't really want to go and then when we got there he wanted me to stay. So I did. Even though I was in track pants and was wearing no makeup.

It never fails that when I look my skeeviest, the pretty people show up. Tonight I sat smack in the middle of the row of chairs, rather than along the wall on the benches. I thought this would eeffectively keep me out of the general population of other parents. Instead, it placed me between the rich optometrist that I've known since high school because he played baseball with my boyfriend back then and some other well-dressed prepster who had a rather tall stack of legal pads in his lap.

Now, I don't ogle people, but I try to be a quiet observer of my surroundings. Rich Optometrist was reading a magazine - this I gathered from my peripheral vision (which is something he checks on me every couple of years, ironically). I assumed that he was reading some important Optometry Today journal or something medically/optometrically related. Stack of Legal Pads on the other side of me was scribbling furiously and from my well-checked peripherals I gleaned rather quickly that he wasn't writing about an upcoming trial (assuming at this point that he was a lawyer because of the legal pads). He instead was scribbling figures, lines, geometrical shapes and other nonsense. He was obviously a rocket scientist. (Even though I'm pretty sure there aren't any rockets around here.) Being sandwiched between two rather good-looking men in rather nice, expensive clothes and shoes - shoes that my husband would not be caught dead in - doing rather important-looking things made me slink lower in my seat as the class time wore on.

I have a pretty good sense of self and I know that even though I have only a high school education, I am a smart person (although the brain isn't as used as it once was and sometimes I revert to babytalk on the weekends completely unprovoked). I provide a loving home to other people's children and I'm good at what I do. I am a good mother and I love my kids desperately. I am a mediocre wife, but that's okay, he likes me that way. There are 7 little Brownies that think I am the shit because I know how to make Goop out of cornstarch and water and I can wrangle nearly 1300 boxes of Girl Scout cookies with what appears to be little effort. We're rednecks, but we're happy rednecks. My kids aren't perfect - my son is a bit of an Eddie Haskell and is hyperactive. My oldest child wears a headgear and an attitude. My youngest child is bossy and whiney. But I love them and they're mine. All in all, I have a good life and I'm satisfied. But sitting there with no makeup on in my New Balance sneaks with the little worn spots on the sides, my husband's tube socks and my track pants that the lining is ripping out, I started to feel pretty inferior.

But then I managed to get a better glimpse both directions and saw that Rich Optometrist was reading Woman's Day and Stack of Legal Pads was drawing basketball plays on his stack of legal pads.

And when I saw Rich Optometrist's kid picking his nose with more fervor and passion than I've seen a 5 year old pick a booger with in a long time . . . well, I smiled and sat up straighter.