that kind of mother (Part 1).

I just dropped Millie off. At a skate party. She's never been skating. What kind of a mother am I to have never taken her 7 year old skating?

I don't know.

And as we drove up and saw the swarm of girls, not one did Millie know. And all of a sudden she refused to exit the vehicle. And I stood outside. by myself. wearing corderoy pants old enough to have lost their corderoy, and a baggy blue $5.00 turtleneck sweater that is brilliant at collecting those balls of wool. With a haircut that has not been trimmed by a professional in over a year, pulled back to attempt a semi-professional look that only works when viewing it via a webcam. Self-cut bangs that hang wrong, glasses down to the tip of my nose.

Standing by myself. Staring at not only this group of young girls, but their mothers, all perfectly couffed, make-uped, matching outfits that seemed to contain as many sequins as those of their girls. And they were perfection, glimmering in the shine of their Escolades.

Millie finally joined me, hiding behind my back, and I sent her off to interact with a tribe unlike my own.

Got in my car, returned to the mess that is home. Feeling overly inadequate and full of skating party fear.