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I couldn’t help but notice her. She was the perfect mom. Her children seemed like little angelic beings with halos hovering over their heads and they sat like little mannequins in church. Quiet. Still. Perfect. She was the perfect mom, married to the perfect husband and they both had perfect kids. I began to wonder how I could be like her. How could I get my boys to sit still in church for an hour and a half, or stand quietly in line without poking the child beside them, or spinning around with their arms straight out as they smacked …