Imperfect

She's the perfect home school mom. One of several support group leaders, a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, actively involved, a veteran of homeschooling. Her four or five children (still haven't figured out exactly which ones belong to her) are all bright, well-accomplished students. The oldest boy plays the violin...beautifully. At a birthday party we both attended, she clipped coupons while visiting. She breastfeeds her 18-month-old. She's not just the perfect home school mom. She's the perfect Proverbs 31 woman. The epitome of what a wife and mother is supposed to look like.

Me? I'm a home school grad, an ex public school teacher, who doesn't understand my husband's mother tongue, trying (and often failing) to raise twins and their brother the best I know how.

She doesn't have twins. She has no idea.

I try and mess up and try again something different. I don't have this whole parenting thing down pat yet. I'm not sure I ever will.

She's had about ten years longer than me to get it figured out.

I don't always know what to do with my kids. When they don't want to play the game all the other kids are playing, I think "that's ok, right?" They have suddenly and inexplicably been thrown into a group of 25-30 kids that they haven't ever met before. Most of whom are older. All the younger ones have older siblings participating in the games. To me, it's understandable that they are hesitant, especially when the leader says we'll number off to make sure each team has an even number of players. And the girls realize they'll be split up that way.

They both want me to come with them. How can I pick one over the other? I say I can't. A2 doesn't want to play, so I say I'll just watch with him. Then they don't want to play either. Their little chins quiver when I say I want them to. Maybe I should make them, but I don't. It wouldn't do any good. They'd just cry the whole time, they wouldn't play, and we'd all come home miserable. And it would be awkward for the other kids. I tell them they can just watch. I'll watch with them. Maybe they'll see how much fun it is and want to do it next time.

But I'm not sure they will. The problem isn't that they don't think the game is fun. The problem is that they don't know any of those other kids, and they all seem to know each other. They're not being rebellious. They're just five years old and they're scared.

I tell them I'm going to help the other moms mark the finish line. They can sit and watch while I'm gone. I'm hoping that will help them want to play, if I'm not right there with them. It doesn't work. They all start crying about the time I get to the finish line. And then She points them over to me. I motion for them to join me. They all stand behind me like they're trying to hide.

She comes clear across the playing area straight to me. I'm thinking maybe she'll try to talk to them, try to get them to play.

Instead she looks at me.

"I see you have an attachment...." Her voice trails off. But I can see the last word on her face. She was going to say "problem."

I don't know what to say, so I find myself smiling, listening attentively, and then agreeing with her. And I hear myself explaining how they're not really used to being around this many kids they don't know because our church is small and they know all the other kids.

She smiles and moves on.

And I come home and wonder how to solve my "attachment problem." Because I'm not perfect like her.