The football mommies all sit on the grass bordering the practice field. They are a coordinated set, sporting perky ponytails or pigtails (seriously), cotton baby doll tops, bermuda shorts, and flip flops. Their toddlers (too young to play football) veer wildly around the fringes of the group, stopping only for a moment to be plied with snacks produced from a Roxy diaper bag. The mommies discuss birthday party invitations and swim lesson registration, breaking the conversation occasionally to half-heartedly shout empty threats at a wayward child. I don’t fit in with the football mommies.

I usually choose to sit in the car, because (a) I prefer to sit in the shade (reduced risk of skin cancer, you know- redheads have to think about these things), (b) I dislike endlessly discussing the social lives of my children, and (c ) I’d rather knit or type or listen to the news on satellite radio than expend the energy required to fit in with them. So I paint myself as the anti-social mom.

This thought always lingers in the back of my head…Maybe I’m not cut out for the stay-at-home mom thing. Is it a requirement to be a slightly vapid pod person to qualify as a successful parent, or are there other women out there like me? Quirky, strong, intelligent, entirely imperfect moms?

In an alternate universe somewhere, Denise is probably writing a doctoral thesis or launching a hostile takeover. Here in the real world, I sit in the car and ponder the course of my life.