I’m sure we all like to think we’re unique as we struggle, or glide, through life. We work harder than others or are more loving than them; we have more or less money than them; we parent our children differently; fill our days more efficiently.
Others may not be able to tell us apart physically (I say this in particular reference to DD’s wonderful school teacher, who still sometimes mistakes me for my reasonably similar-looking [though much prettier] friend and sends the wrong child out of the classroom to me) but, if we were asked to compare ourselves, we could come up with a host of differences: While my friend and I, for example, might have a similar haircut and be approximately the same height, she likes Chardonnay, while I like Sauvignon. She can wear pale blue and silver, I can’t. She loves interiors, I don’t see them: See – we’re all unique.
Anyway, one of the things I like to play my imaginary violins of sympathy for is the amount of running about I do in a day. I may be on a “housewife” visa, but “driver” is actually more accurate – and no time is this more relevant than this week as DH is away and I’m doing the full complement of school runs toute seule (alone, for those who never learned French). In total, it’s about 120kms a day.
But today I learned an important lesson. I am not alone. And I am not unique. In fact, I am one of a tribe of fellow Stepford Wives. Let me explain.
07:25 – I see a lovely looking lady in the school car park. I clock her because I’ve already seen her in my yoga class and she’s wearing a nice outfit for one who got up at stupid o’clock.
08.15 – 30kms away, I see her again at DS’s nursery. So, we’ve both got up at 6, got one child and ourselves breakfasted, dressed and ready, driven like a bat out of hell to school, dropped off that child and driven like a bat out of hell back down the highway home, picked up another child and dropped them at nursery.
08.30 – I see her again in the supermarket. She’s also picking up groceries after dropping off the kids. (Unique? Me?)
13:00 – I see her disappearing into her car at DS’s nursery. She’s beaten me to pick-up.
14.25 – I see her again back in the school car park ready for pick-up. Once again she’s parked opposite me (clearly we both have our favoured spaces) but she’s changed into shorts and a vest. (I don’t blame her, it’s hot).
My life? Unique? Sometimes it’s more like The Stepford Wives than I’m comfortable to admit.