Mrs. Perfect

It’s going to be fine, I repeat. Nathan and I have just hit a little rough patch. That’s normal, it happens to all couples, even couples like us.

Maybe that’s why I’m panicking.

Nathan and I never used to have problems. Nathan has been my godsend.

Life before Nathan was a bitch. I might look like All That now, but it’s something I’ve worked for, something I still work for, and I can’t imagine my life without him.

Truthfully, I never thought my life would turn out like this. Growing up was a nightmare—you don’t want to know all the sordid details—but despite the disaster at home, I excelled in school.

I did the whole cheerleader/homecoming court/student body thing in high school before spending four years as an Alpha Beta Pi at USC.

I first met Nathan (Nathan Charles Young III) while we were both undergrads when we were set up for a fraternity/sorority dance. I was a sophomore and he was a fifth-year senior, as he’d redshirted for the football team. Move ahead sixteen years and you have us today living in our lovely home in the Pacific Northwest with three gorgeous girls—ten-year-old Jemma, seven-year-old Brooke, and four-year-old Tori.

Despite once having an interesting career in PR and communications, I’m now a full-time mom by choice. Nathan and I agreed from the beginning that I’d stay home with the children. He was making great money in his career, and we didn’t want our children raised by anyone else.

I wanted to be the kind of mother my own mother couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be. Room mom, PTA president, office volunteer. Of course, there are days when I long for some peace and a less structured life, but for the most part I have no regrets. I like the power. I want the power. And don’t think being a stay-at-home mom isn’t powerful.

I can bring a school board to its knees. I heard via the grapevine that I once made a principal cry. But I’ve never been malicious. I’m in this not for me, but for my children. I want the best for my children. I want to help them get ahead. I want them to have every opportunity.

The only drawback?

Our lives are really jam-packed. Sometimes too stressful. But then I look at the great friends we have, and our lifestyle—Christmas at Sun Valley, February at St. Barts, and Easter usually in Hawaii, while summer vacations we head to Jackson Hole.

I don’t think we ever meant to travel this much, but it’s what our group does, and the kids love being with our friends, and it’s hard staying home when you know what a fantastic time everyone else is having. Which reminds me. We were supposed to be gone this weekend, escaping for the three-day weekend to Vashon.

Sighing, I reluctantly put thoughts of relaxing on Vashon Island out of my mind. We’re here this weekend. We might as well make the most of it.

Nathan’s up and gone by the time I come downstairs in the morning. I heard him shower earlier—he must have already hit the gym—and he left a note in the kitchen saying he’s gone to have breakfast at the country club with the guys before they tee off.

With Nathan gone, I let the girls lounge in their pajamas until ten, when I insist they finally turn off the TV and computer games and get dressed if they want to go have lunch at Bellevue Square and do a little shopping.

Jemma immediately begs to go to the Cheesecake Factory, while Tori pleads for Red Robin. “It’ll probably be the Nordstrom café,” I say.

They groan.

“What’s wrong with the café?”

“Nothing,” Jemma answers unhappily, “but we always eat there, and it’s boring. I want to go somewhere fun.”

“Yeah, fun,” Tori adds, and Brooke nods.

“We’ll see,” I answer evasively, thinking I’m not about to lug our shopping bags throughout the mall. The café is close and convenient, and I can charge our lunch on my Nordstrom’s card.

On the way to the mall, we swing by the school so Jemma can check the class lists one more time before school starts on Tuesday. She heard that she’s got Eva Zinsser in her class again, and she wants to see for herself.

I park my Lexus SUV in front of the school, and the girls scramble from the car. Stepping out of the car, I pray that Paige is wrong. I can’t bear another year with the Zinssers. Jemma feels the same way. Last year was a bear, a real struggle, and I refuse to go through another school year like that.

“Paige was right,” Jemma shouts, standing in front of the window and scanning the names. “We’re in the same class again.” She turns around and groans. “Why, Mom? Why me?”

“It’ll be fine,” I say unconvincingly, hating that there are now two strikes against the new school year.

First, Jemma’s been assigned to Mrs. Osborne’s class—something I’m just dreading, as it’s rumored that Mrs. Osborne piles on the homework, although not as much as Mrs. Shipley last year. Nathan might say it’s good for the girls to have hard teachers, but he isn’t the one who helps with homework every night, and he’s not the one devoting hours to overseeing the reports and projects, either.

I’d been hoping Jemma would get Miss Tanzey for fifth grade. Miss Tanzey arrived midyear last year, replacing Mrs. Jenkins, who was going out on maternity leave, and everyone who had Miss Tanzey just loved her. Miss Tanzey didn’t assign homework during winter or spring break—not like Mrs. Osborne—and she was, by all accounts, a much easier grader, which would be so much better for Jemma, who has begun struggling in school.

It’s not that Jemma’s not bright enough, but she’s just not motivated, and last year her grades really dropped, which sent Nathan through the roof. He took Jemma’s cell phone away from her and grounded her from the computer for nearly a month, but Jemma just sulked and then used Annika’s phone behind her father’s back.

I vowed this year would be different. I vowed that we’d start school on a more positive note, but it’s hard to be as optimistic knowing that we’ve got to deal with the bizarre-o Zinssers again.

“Come on, girls, let’s go shopping.”

The rest of the weekend passes in a blur of picnics, barbecues, and swimming dates at the lake and the country club pool. Kate and Bill have us over for dinner Saturday night. Patti and Donald have a pre–Labor Day party Sunday night. Then some people I don’t know well invited us to a big shindig Monday afternoon, and I wouldn’t have gone except that Gary Locke, the former governor of Washington, was going to be there with his wife and children.

By Monday night, I’m so tired of small talk and smiling that it’s a relief to put the kids to bed.

In our bed, Nathan reaches for me in the dark and I’m about to refuse, citing extreme exhaustion, but then I remember our odd night Friday night and the tension over money. I don’t want tension over sex.

I give in to his kiss. He is such a good kisser, and as his body sinks into mine, I know that at least I’ll climax. I always do. Nathan wouldn’t have it any other way.

The morning arrives along with tears and tantrums. Tori doesn’t want her big sisters going off to school and leaving her alone. “But you’re not alone,” Brooke tells her imperiously. “You’ll be with Annika.” Which of course leads to more tears.

Brooke’s upset because her hair isn’t holding a curl.

Jemma’s upset because her hair won’t stay straight.

I’m upset because I’ve got to get ready, too, and I can’t get dressed or do my hair with everyone screaming in every upstairs bedroom.

But finally by seven forty-five we make it to the car. I’m driving the girls this morning instead of having them take the bus so I can formally introduce myself to Brooke’s and Jemma’s teachers. It’s something I’ve done every year since Jemma started kindergarten, and now it’s a tradition. I always take a little welcoming gift, too. It just helps start the year off on the right foot.

But today I also have the PTA’s Welcome Coffee, and I stack my purse on top of my binder in the backseat of the Lexus. The PTA board puts on the Welcome Coffee for all the parents every year on the first day of school, but usually only a dozen or so women attend. I’ve

never understood why more moms don’t attend. It’s an ideal chance to get to know the PTA board and to find out more about this year’s activities and available volunteer positions.

I glance at my watch, wondering where Annika is, even as I recall how several years ago I was responsible for filling all the school’s volunteer positions. That was a job. You’d think more moms would want to be involved. You’d think they’d care.

The girls are in the car, howling that we’re going to be late. I’m standing between the garage and kitchen doors, trying not to scream, and suddenly Annika arrives, sweeping into the house in a flurry of apologies. Instead of jumping on the breakfast dishes, she scoops up Tori and sits on the couch with her to watch Dora. Tori’s getting a little old for Dora the Explorer, and the kitchen needs attention, but I bite my tongue. I just want to get out of the house at this point, and time is of the essence.

By the time we reach Points Elementary, the parking lot is a zoo. Everyone has come today, and I squeeze in next to another car, hoping I’m not so close that I’ll get the Lexus’s paint chipped. I’m proud of my Lexus. I’ve had it two years, and it still looks brand new.

We hustle across the parking lot and enter one of the outside buildings where the second-grade classes are held. Brooke has one of the new teachers, a Miss Johnson, and from what I understand, Miss Johnson is young and inexperienced. I believe this is her first year teaching, although I don’t know why the school district would hire such a green teacher for Points Elementary. Living in Yarrow Point, we pay a fortune in property taxes. The girls deserve a great education, and I’m determined they’ll get that education. That’s one reason I volunteer as much as I do, and of course I’m volunteering as a room parent for Jemma’s and Brooke’s classes again.

I’ve already e-mailed both teachers, letting them know I’m available and interested in helping them out. I do this every year in August as soon as the class rosters are posted, and it works. Teachers have a lot to deal with at the beginning of the year, and they shouldn’t have to worry about managing all the parent volunteers.

In my e-mail (I saved it in my Outlook box a couple of years ago so it’s easy to resend every summer), I tell the teacher a little about myself and explain why I’m so qualified.

First, I’m experienced. I’ve done this every year since Jemma started kindergarten, and I know what needs to be done.

Second, I’m a full-time mom, and I’ve dedicated myself completely to my kids’ future.

Third, I’m committed. When I say I’ll do something, I do it.

Fourth, I’m good. Every class that has me as head room parent has a great year, guaranteed. They have the best parties, the best field trips, the best class projects for the school auction. But I don’t help just with the fun stuff. I’m there in the classroom helping out, too. I read with the children, I photocopy handouts, I sort homework, I help with bulletin boards.