Another group to which I do not belong.

I really thought I was over the whole inferiority complex thing, but apparently, I am not.

Most mornings, I'm taking my last sip of coffee, counting the cats to make sure that they haven't escaped, telling Bean, "I asked you to get your lunchbox three times already", and trying to lock the door while holding my coat, my purse, my lunch, Bean's lunchbox and/or homework folder, and (nine times out of ten) also my shoes.

I'm lucky that I've brushed my teeth and put on make-up, truthfully. It's a toss-up whether or not I've remembered socks for myself. My hair is never done. Ever. But I remember my deodorant.

I'm flying to school, and I get her there justintime most days. I kiss her and practically throw her in the direction of her classroom, but I always remember to yell, "I love you!" and wait for the eye roll.

It's only when I've left her, and I'm making my way off of school grounds that I realize how little I fit in with these other women.

There's one. She's on the PTO. Maybe one of the grandmasters of the PTO. And she's British. I'm pretty sure, British. And she is always perfectly coordinated in very hip, stylish, young, but not too young to look like a respectable mom clothes. Make-up, perfect. Hair, perfectly styled. Nails, manicured. And she smells good.

PTO Mom stands around in a group of other perfectly coordinated moms with designer handbags (which, by the way, is so odd to me since we live in a community that is mostly populated with enlisted military folk) and highlights and nails and perfectly clean little toddlers who are dressed better than me.

Then there are the sporty moms. The moms who look like they've just come from a run with their perfect ponytails and matching UnderArmor workout clothes, and their nice, clean, white sneakers. You know what? I wear ratty black pants with a hole in the rear, a Wonder Woman wifebeater, and sneakers from my sophomore year of high school. But I work out at home, so I guess that's okay?

Anyway.

I try to talk to the stay-at-home-moms who always seem to have their act together, but I get this paralyzing anxiety, and I lose any ability I have to talk like a normal person. The only person I can even mildly relate to is Bean's Brownie troop leader. And even then. I can't really relate. My child doesn't have a learning disability, I don't hate 1/3 of the teachers at the school, and I don't think the Renaissance program is a stupid idea (probably because my kid always gets academic recognition at these things). I haven't breastfed three children, my boobs are actually the same size (don't ask), and I don't deal with the same things that she deals with on a regular basis as a stay-at-home-mom.

I should learn to give myself more credit. But until I do, I will just keep doing what I do and try not to trip over the untied laces of my All Stars (of course I don't have time to tie them, pffft) when I walk past the Moms.