Inadequate

Yes, that's me. Yesterday I stopped by my good friend Michelle's house, unannounced, at about 6:45 pm. She is my Treasure for PTA. I had some checks for her to sign. Her daughter opened the door and invited me in. To my left, I walked by an immaculate kitchen with a beautifully set table and a bowl of fruit salad in the middle of the matching red plates and stemmed water glasses. Complete with folded napkins and all of the silverware in the right place. I walked past the kitchen and into the family room where her daughter and son were practicing music together, one on the piano, the other, the guitar. Her oldest daughter, the sterling scholar at Jordan High, sat in a big comfortable chair studying french while the other daughter went back to the computer to finish her essay before Dad, the Bishop, got home. Michelle was in her cute little apron, going through the checkbook, making sure it was balanced. I immediately felt inadequate. On so many levels. To make it even worse, as I complemented her on this scene of the perfect home, she, being the sweet and unpretentious mom and friend that she is, started to downplay the whole scene, something about how if I had just been there on Sunday when everyone was in tears, or how she doesn't have small children anymore and her kids are big enough to help, and she is not PTA blah, blah, blah...

I think I would have felt a lot better about the whole thing if she was conceited, or pretentious, or proud of being the great mother and homemaker that she is. She's not. She's gracious and sweet and kind. A lot of my friends are. I just feel inadequate.