I forgot I was Snack Mom for the soccer game this weekend. There has probably never been uttered a phrase so filled with First-World-Problem-irony, but it’s true. I forgot I was Snack Mom this weekend and I feel terrible about it. Usually, the problem would quickly be remedied by a run to the store but my kid was sick so we weren’t there. That means a bunch of 6 and 7-year-old little girls were standing around after their soccer game with sad faces & rumbling tummies. I understand that one of the coaches was running around yelling, “Where are the half-time oranges? THESE GIRLS NEED ORANGES!” They were saved by a much more proficient Mom, who probably ran to Whole Foods & whipped up a snack from quinoa & flax seed.
I’m simply not able to keep up with the “Mommy Stuff” and here’s further proof. I found out that I’d forgotten about soccer snacks while at a Halloween party. This would be the same Halloween party I brought my kids to WITHOUT their Halloween costumes! Don’t judge. I misread the invitation and thought they were making them there. I KNOW. It sounds remarkably stupid NOW but in my overworked Mom-Brain, it made perfect sense. I was watching my kids sulk in their play clothes and the others run around in AWESOME costumes when someone said, “Were you supposed to be Snack Mom yesterday?”
That’s when I decided I need a Sister Wife. I simply can’t be Mommy on my own anymore, so I’m hiring a Sister Wife to pitch in. Maybe she could take over meal preparation. How GREAT would it be to ask someone, “Hey, what’s for dinner,” only to roll your eyes at whatever the response was.
“Pizza and chocolate cake? Gross.”
Wouldn’t it be awesome to just leave a pile of dishes in the sink or “forget” to flush the toilet time and time again? Imagine walking past a pile of cat barf without cleaning it up. Sounds as distant and exotic as a trip to Bali, doesn’t it?
I don’t really like the idea of sharing my husband, but if having a Sister Wife meant I could BLAME someone else for my screw-ups, I’d consider it. I can just imagine gazing at my husband and saying, “Sister Wife Mary Margaret forgot to pack lunches for the field trip today.” We would both shake our heads in frustration, because Sister Wife Mary Margaret is a total flake.
So please send me your applications. You must be willing to help out with all the things I hate, like vacuuming or removing splinters from the fingers of hysterical children. You will also need to be on top of every single little thing, from headbands to school band and yes, you will have to clean up some cat barf.
And though I don’t relish the idea of you sleeping with my husband, if you will take the blame for my stupid mistakes, like the next time I roast a chicken upside-down, I will certainly take it into consideration.