"How DO you do it?"

I just read a brilliant little article at yourwisdom.yahoo.com entitled "5 things you can say to make another mom's day."  And it got me thinking, which, surely, is what such articles are meant to do.  I looked over the five things (go and do likewise), and decided that while four of them were guaranteed heart-warmers, the fifth is one I personally have heard several times too often.
"I don't know how you do it."
See, this has blighted more than one sunny afternoon for me, although (I hope) I have now learned simply to dismiss it.  There I'd be, going pleasantly along, and then have someone shaking her, always her, head at me and saying:  "I don't know how you do it."  How I do what?  I didn't just deliver a lecture on nuclear physics, or do a portrait in oils, or even win at mah jongg.  I'm just walking along the street, for heaven's sake, or hanging out at the playground.  And since you, Speaker, have encountered me, you are clearly doing the same.
This started when I had three young children and was enrolled in graduate school at a university perhaps an hour and a quarter from my home.
"I don't know you do it."
Seriously?
Here's what I should have said:
"How I 'do' grad school is to get into a nice quiet car, with nobody in the back seat who will have to go to the bathroom or throw up or have a dispute with a sibling mediated for the entire trip, and then I go to a nice room full of adults, one of whom is in charge and is not me.  And I take notes, and have pleasant, uninterrupted chats with other grown-ups during breaks.  Then I spend some time in a virtually silent college library, and when I am at home I spend a couple of hours reading after the children are asleep."
Yeah, it was hell, all right.  I wonder whether anybody asked my husband how he did it.  He, after all, was the one who got to serve dinner and put children to bed two nights a week after having worked at a demanding job all day.
Post grad school, while I worked part-time and had more children, the phrase came at me again and again.
You don't know how I do it?
Oh, c'mon.
Sure you do.
Because you do the same thing.  Not identically the same, of course, but in essence the same.
You do what needs to be done, and relish doing the things that do not have to be done but that you enjoy doing, and you value the times when things are running smoothly (but you don't expect them to happen that way all the time), and you cherish the moments when things are wonderful (because you know darn well THEY don't impress themselves on you every minute, although perhaps they should), and then occasionally you feel overwhelmed, and have some chocolate and go on doing what needs to be done.
Hey, I might have liked to polish up my Superwoman medal, but I knew I hadn't earned one.
Eventually I hit upon the ideal answer:
"How do you do it?"
"I neglect my housework."
A lot of people who ask this, based on your being "so busy", figure you are neglecting something in your life, you see, and this is better than having them suspect it must be your husband or children.
Still, while having people suggest that I was carrying a heavier load than most might have been tiresome, it was downright irritating to hear the opposite.  A former neighbor told my husband, "You are kicked out of the husbands' club for making the rest of us look bad.  How does Marie have so much time to sit on the porch swing and read?"
Now, I knew the other wives living on that street, and I am confident they were not stuck down in the basement making soap or even brewing beer while I was (apparently) scandalizing the neighborhood with my porch swing and paperback Anne Tyler.
So what was that all about?
To my knowledge, though, that happened only once.  Then again, based on my reaction, my husband may have, wisely, hidden other such comments from me.
Come to think of it, the one time I'd say it's wonderful to say "I don't know how you do it" is when you are honestly admiring a particular accomplishment.  That lecture on nuclear physics would qualify.  Or any artistic or athletic achievement, especially if it's one that really does have you awed.  Or, of course, any volunteer activity which involved large numbers of children.
"I don't know how you managed to organize that Preschoolers' Opera!"
Granted, this will probably lead to the person's giving you a lot of information about just how she did it, along with stories about how it almost didn't happen at all, and a request that you help out next time.  This, you see, is the test of your sincerity.