
And let’s not gloss over the fact that the Super Star Mommies also have the effect of making the rest of us feel like crap. You know what I’m talking about. Their kid was potty trained at 18 months and all her kids could read (Latin) before kindergarten. And if you’ve ever talked to her for fifteen minutes, she’s told you all about it. And if she finds out that one of yours needs speech therapy, she looks at you with such pity that you want to square up and kick her in the lady parts or her perfect teeth.
But sadly, I recently discovered that I'm not much better. I have been so vocal in my opposition to Perfect Mommy. I have been so strident in my cries of “Let kids be kids!”, “Just relax, Lady!” and the lesser known pirate cry, “Loosen yer sphincter!” I have said again and again that I would rather have a child with backbone and heart at community college than a liar and a cheater at Harvard. Then Thumbelina won the first Gold Star in her class, and I went temporarily insane. Gold Stars are monthly awards for kids who exemplify one of the school’s values. They’re a big deal. That was when all my walls came tumbling down and (at least between when school let out and dinner) I became all that I abhor.
First, I called the Cap’n and the grandparents. Then I casually mentioned it to a couple of dozen people (and strangers). I contemplated updating my Facebook status and then decided to wait until I had a picture of her with the gold star pinned to her shirt so I could really send the message home. I started having the following really repulsive thoughts:

• She’s starting the year off strong and that’s great because this is the year they start tracking student achievement. (And my little precious must be tracked into the extra special group… My precious… Yes, by then I was Gollum - imaginary conversations and all - I’m not proud.)
• She’s right on schedule to take over the entire world. And all because I made her copy out her challenge words ten times… (And that’s when I became Super Star Mommy, because it was all about ME.)
I spent an inordinate amount of time at dinner that night telling Thumbelina how proud I was and how wonderful she was. Then Hawk, her little brother, asked the million dollar question: “Yah yah yah. Gold star. But what’s it for?” Thumbelina replied that the value that she exemplified was responsibility. She was really proud because in our family, we always talk about how important it is take responsibility for the things we say and do.
Oh my sweet melons… I am such an ass hat.
I crumpled. I actually started sniffling at the dinner table. I hadn’t even asked her. I only cared about The Gold Star. I didn’t care about what it was for. Responsibility. I was suddenly so proud and this time, for her. For who she was. For all the good things that she must have done that whole month of school. For the recognition that SHE earned.
“Thumbelina. I couldn’t ask for a better girl. And Hawk, if you get any more awesome, they’re going to give you a Gold Star for being a dang Jedi. And you baby – are the sweetest, stinkiest little monkey in the world, and I love you all day, every day.” And the kids looked at me like I was all crazy and just kept eating like things were normal. If they knew how to whistle, they would've done so to break the awkward tension.
I owed my daughter an apology and she got it. But I think I may also owe Super Star Mommy an apology, too.
Dear Super Star Mommy,

But then it sort of happened to me. The braggy part, anyway. Not the snitch part (I took a pledge on how to treat other people’s kids). So I tell you right now, I know that I’m no better than you. I’m sorry if I misjudged you and I promise to give you a chance. I’m going to listen to you. If I hear you say something yucky, I’ll go get the sandwich and return with a fiery vengeance of sammy slappage. But if I hear you brag, I’ll listen politely and then I’m going to challenge you to tell the truth. Because honestly, I’d rather hear about how you try not to drink before Oprah is over than how perfect your life is. I mean, Kate and I once thought we were too different to be friends.
Maybe there’s hope for all of us.
xo, Lydia
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010