Women's Work

Dilly Simmons went to the finest schools of all the moms in line at the parent pick-up. Not that anyone could tell that. Twenty years ago, she had worn her education on a decal on her car. Now, her SUV, which felt more like a mini-van prison, held only the Mickey Mouse-Eared decals of the family she had made.

Dilly had traded in her Doc Maarten's and Pakistani Sarongs once for Mark Jacobs glasses and Brooks Brothers Suits. Still, neither of those "Signature Styles" had carried over into her current existence. She looked like every other mother in the parent pick-up line, North Face jacket, pants, double trimmed racing tracks on her athletic wear uniform.

In Grad-school her professors had believed she would be "something." Her critical essay, "Post-Feminist Expressions of Human Mystique," had even been cited in the work of several academics who went on to have "real careers." She hadn't meant to hang up her career with the introduction of a soft-yellow ducky-hooded bathrobe into her life or the giggling bundle of spit-up that came with it. But she hadn't expected the love of her life would be a fat curly-haired human who might color on the wall, pull the dog's tail, or run into traffic at any given moment. What Dilly hadn't expected more than any of that was that she would gladly give up everything she had earned, owned, or achieved, for just one more day swinging on the playground with that chubby toddler who still thought she was everything.

The knock at her window stopped her walk down memory lane past the newlywed stage of motherhood. It was Mrs. Yells-a-Lot, the coach and boss of the parent pick-up.

"You can't park here!" Yells-A-Lot shouted.

Dilly rolled down the window.

"I'm not parked; I'm in the parent pick-up line," Dilly said.

"You need to read your email," Yells-A-Lot shouted. "The district sent out a message. We are no longer allowing car pick-up."

"Since when?" Dilly asked.

"Park, now," Yells-A-Lot pointed. "You're holding up the busses."

"Yeah, but just Yesterday--" Dilly tried to explain that just Yesterday she had pulled in this same spot, and Tyler and Kaitlin had run out with their backpacks and the glitter-glued and fingerpainted "Blue Dog" poster.

"But nothing, MOVE," Yells-A-Lot was gesturing a lot.

Dilly rolled her eyes and turned on her turn signal. She mumbled to herself, "Such a Bit-" then stopped herself; you don't do that to another woman, she thought. But really, Yells-A-Lot was a bitch and not at all in an empowered Alanis Morrissette way.

She pulled her minivan-esque-SUV into the only almost-a-parking spot, left in the corner of the parking lot, half-parking on the lawn. She got out of the SUV. Just in time, to be stuck next to Julia-PTA-President- Hyphenated-something who constantly called her child "My Elijah." As if there were another Elijah in the first grade at Thomas Stearns Eliot Elementary Academy for Gifted Juveniles.

"Julia, Julia, Julia!" Sugar Sweeney ran ahead of Dilly. "Yo who Julia"

And although Dilly knew no one liked Sugar, and even though she was anxious to get the kids home and start preparations for her Pinterest-week-night-company-pot-roast for book club. Not to mention the baths, bribes, and last-minute skimming of the Oprah Book Club novel, which she didn't have time to read. Dilly was just a little bit relieved she wouldn't need to make small talk with Julia. Small talk with Julia always earned Dilly some new assignment or obligation.

"Julia," Sugar tripped over her open-sided Tom Ford Pumps- the gold chains dangling. "I wanted to see if you could use any help with the Mother-Daughter Fashion Show. I have so many ideas!"

Sugar started pulling sketches of designs out of her oversized Dolce and Gabbana purse. Julia looked dumbfounded.

"I don't know if you know, but Digby is Treasurer for the Italian American National Business Association. I bet he has the connections to really make the school a lot of money and-"

Of course, he is thought, Dilly. The line moved slowly. One step, one shift closer to the line of children waiting to be re-connected with their parents.

Julia looked at her watch. "Sugar, Honey, it's sweet of you to want to get involved, but we're all full of volunteers for that one."

"Well, it's just Victoria had her heart set on being a model, and I know Digby would donate-"

Dilly shifted her tote from one side to another.

"Oh poor Victoria, I know they all want their chance, but--"

"Victoria is an expert model. I think you will remember she was featured on toddler's in Tiara's three times, Julia, please. If there is anything--"

Oh God, Sugar, just stop, Dilly thought. She's never going to let you into her club.

"I'm glad you said that," Julia smiled. "I heard Marsha B. is looking for volunteers for the 4-H Fair. Perhaps, Victoria could use her talents there?"

"There's nothing for the Fashion show?" Sugar asked.

"Nothing," Julia said firmly.

The loudspeaker came on, "Would the parent of Victoria Sweeney please come to the nurse's office."

Sugar's eyes flashed panicked. Dilly's eyes softened to Sugar; they were all mothers. They all loved their kids. A hurt kid was a hurt kid.

"Oh, I guess I better run," Sugar turned toward the main entrance.

"I do hope everything is okay, Honey!" Julia called.

"Good, Save!" Allie Ansley turned in place while adjusting her Coach bag on her shoulder.

"I mean, come on. Right? Some females," Julia shook her head.

"Do you remember what she wore to track and field day last year?" Allie shook her head.

"Oh, you mean stilettos and a catsuit weren't your go-to for Field Day," Julia snarked. "She's a ridiculous person. The whole point of the fundraiser is to feature local businesses. The Mommy and Me Boutique on Main is donating custom matching Mother-Daughter dresses."

"Oh, I love their designs. Sophie and Sally wore their Winter Ditzy Dots to the Father-Daughter Dance last February. Milo even got the matching tie- it was so cute!" Allie said.

"Oh, I know my Elijah wore one of their adorable Eton Suits last Easter," Julia shook her head. "I just can't wait to see what Sugar Sweeney can bring to the Horse-Shit-Show of the 4-H Fair."

"Poor Marsha," Allie laughed.

"She needs something to keep herself busy with now that Kenny took off with his Secretary," Julia lowered her Burberry sunglasses. "I heard his name was Ricki."

"Now that makes sense," Allie smirked. "I never trust a man with matching paisley socks and Italian Leather loafers!"

"Honestly, she should have known," Julia lowered her voice. "They met at a gallery opening in Prague when Kenny was finding himself after the Stock Market Crash of 2008 and Marsha was on sabbatical studying the life and work of Kafka."

"Wow, and now she cleans the stables?" Allie laughed.

"The saddest part is I think she still loves Kenny," Julia shook her head. "Poor Marsha."

Dilly didn't know why the conversation bothered her so much or why she cared that in their Burberry-Coach existence, they judged other women. She didn't understand why she wanted to defend Marsha's choice to love horses, Kafka, or Kenny.

Dilly couldn't even come up with the words to fight for Marsha or even Sugar, who was sweet even if she didn't dress like the other moms. In Grad-School, Dilly would have thought they were all way too consumer-oriented. She would have looked for substance. Young Dilly also never would have worn these god-awful tennis shoes. She immediately missed her Doc Maartens and colorful burnt velvet scarves.

"Well, that is some happy-horse-shit." Allie shook her head. "Imagine, all of that education going to waste just to do what, shovel horse-shit?"

"Well, at least she got an education. Sugar just found a man to pay for her life. At least, Marsha, like you, and I have something to fall back on. We become the First Wife rather than a cheap plastic trophy."

And not for the first time, Dilly felt a pang of guilt herself over her own life choices. Her parents had paid over a hundred and sixty thousand dollars in tuition and given her more than $600,000 in a trust fund she still lived off of when her husband had walked away. All so that she could forget she had once was going to be "Something Special."

"It's all some Happy Horse-Shit," Allie said out loud, surprising herself.

Julia and Allie turned, surprised.

"Huh?" Julia asked

"Women's Work," Dilly thought of herself cleaning up the sick explosion Tyler had made all over the bathroom that one night where he couldn't figure out which end to aim at the bowl. And so he aimed neither. She thought of Kaitlin's chronic need to smear spaghetti hands on the frilly white dresses her aunts bought her. She thought of the arguments of begging Tyler to wear dress pants on holidays or Kaitlyn to wear anything but a Princess costume to the grocery store. She thought of the million times Tyler played with Barbies or Kaitlin with trucks. She thought of how she had taught her children they could be anything. Dilly thought about the way she had chosen motherhood to be her career. She laughed out loud.

"I resent that. I'm a feminist," said Julia.

"I majored in Women Studies," Dilly smiled. "I know a feminist when I see one."

"Momma! Momma!" Kaitlyn ran out, followed by Tyler. "Look at my Scul-pe-tcher." She held out a graying rainbowed blob of dried Play-Doh.

"Wow, that looks like an original Hepworth," Dilly hugged Kaitlyn.

Dilly held out her hands and crossed the street back with the loves of her life. "You know what the coolest thing about the famous feminist artist, Barbara Hepworth was? She believed being a Momma made her art better."