I want the power. And don’t think being a stay-at-home mom isn’t powerful.

I can bring a school board to its knees. I heard via the grapevine that I once made a principal cry. But I’ve never been malicious. I’m in this not for me, but for my children. I want the best for my children. I want to help them get ahead. I want them to have every opportunity.

The only drawback?

Our lives are really jam-packed. Sometimes too stressful. But then I look at the great friends we have, and our lifestyle—Christmas at Sun Valley, February at St. Barts, and Easter usually in Hawaii, while summer vacations we head to Jackson Hole.

I don’t think we ever meant to travel this much, but it’s what our group does, and the kids love being with our friends, and it’s hard staying home when you know what a fantastic time everyone else is having. Which reminds me. We were supposed to be gone this weekend, escaping for the three-day weekend to Vashon.

Sighing, I reluctantly put thoughts of relaxing on Vashon Island out of my mind. We’re here this weekend. We might as well make the most of it.

Nathan’s up and gone by the time I come downstairs in the morning. I heard him shower earlier—he must have already hit the gym—and he left a note in the kitchen saying he’s gone to have breakfast at the country club with the guys before they tee off.

With Nathan gone, I let the girls lounge in their pajamas until ten, when I insist they finally turn off the TV and computer games and get dressed if they want to go have lunch at Bellevue Square and do a little shopping.

Jemma immediately begs to go to the Cheesecake Factory, while Tori pleads for Red Robin. “It’ll probably be the Nordstrom café,” I say.

They groan.

“What’s wrong with the café?”

“Nothing,” Jemma answers unhappily, “but we always eat there, and it’s boring. I want to go somewhere fun.”

“Yeah, fun,” Tori adds, and Brooke nods.

“We’ll see,” I answer evasively, thinking I’m not about to lug our shopping bags throughout the mall. The café is close and convenient, and I can charge our lunch on my Nordstrom’s card.

On the way to the mall, we swing by the school so Jemma can check the class lists one more time before school starts on Tuesday. She heard that she’s got Eva Zinsser in her class again, and she wants to see for herself.

I park my Lexus SUV in front of the school, and the girls scramble from the car. Stepping out of the car, I pray that Paige is wrong. I can’t bear another year with the Zinssers. Jemma feels the same way. Last year was a bear, a real struggle, and I refuse to go through another school year like that.

“Paige was right,” Jemma shouts, standing in front of the window and scanning the names. “We’re in the same class again.” She turns around and groans. “Why, Mom? Why me?”

“It’ll be fine,” I say unconvincingly, hating that there are now two strikes against the new school year.

First, Jemma’s been assigned to Mrs. Osborne’s class—something I’m just dreading, as it’s rumored that Mrs. Osborne piles on the homework, although not as much as Mrs. Shipley last year. Nathan might say it’s good for the girls to have hard teachers, but he isn’t the one who helps with homework every night, and he’s not the one devoting hours to overseeing the reports and projects, either.

I’d been hoping Jemma would get Miss Tanzey for fifth grade.