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It’s hard to pull it off, the notion of a working mother, perfectly coiffed and presentable each day. I never pull it off, despite my best intentions.

The amount of time I spend every morning begging – yes, begging – my family to get their fannies out the door in a timely fashion is astounding. My mornings are measured in 15 minute increments. I time each member in our household with the careful precision of a drill sergeant and a stop watch.

Thankfully, my husband and kids continue to thrive despite my morning bouts of lunacy. My darling children make it out the door and to school with clean nails and teeth, fresh clothes and brushed hair. My husband begins his day well turned out, except for those occasions he finds it quite reasonable to mix and match patterns or dress in varying shades of green – but, that would be subject for another post.

Suffice to say the Herculean effort we make every morning to get to school and work on time leaves me less than 10 minutes to pick out a recycled outfit, tame the curls I’ve recently sprung, and brush my teeth.

Sometimes I see myself in the mirror and wonder where the “other” me has gone: that 20 something version, where my clothes fit and matched, my hair wasn’t crippled by incomprehensible curls and I didn’t look so tired. I find it entertaining, to say the least, how I still consider myself the 1999, pre-kids edition, when in fact, everything is considerably different.

So, while I stand in line at the bank behind these women, impeccably put together, in crisp clothes unstained by milk — I am comforted by the thought that in the foreseeable future, I too might find a balance between motherhood and a career.

At least that’s what I like to think.

February 10, 2010

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