"Soccer Mom"

My mother-in-law demoted me to a "soccer mom" this morning, as I cajoled my kids out of the air conditioning and into the typical 80 degree (but with sun feels like 90's) morning with mommy bag slung on the shoulder devoid of chocolate-enhanced drool (it has far more functionality than to deserve the name "diaper bag;" anyways, didn't I grow out of that term when my oldest hit high school?).

Frankly, I was rather offended by the comparison. My world is so much less put together than the one which I imagine the soccer mom inhabits, and I take pride in that.

1. She drives a sleek aerodynamic minivan, preferably a Honda Odyssey. I drive a clumsy Astro van with the window knocked out. Okay, this is just until tomorrow when we are able to get it into the body shop, but until then I will proudly cover the frame with a Chicago Bears towel.

2. The soccer mom's vehicle is clean. At night when everyone is sleeping, a magical fairy comes and vacuums away the chunks of half-chewed granola bars and vaporizes the dirty diapers left from the emergency gas station stop (a last resort for leakiness).

3. She carries a bottle of Spray-N-Wash at all times in order to fend off permanent staining to hers or the children's clothes. My family's trademark is crusty leftovers stuck to whatever part of the body is at the nearest point when the food falls. My son's right shoulder sleeve has become a portable napkin.

4. Her children have neat hair. My baby searches wildly among her head for any attachments and promptly rips them out. My 4-year-old son's whorl has earned permanent Alfie status. Water, gel, mousse, super glue, cement--nothing will touch it.

C. Moonflower