Normally I’m all about sharing. And teamwork. And the sisterhood of motherhood and the village mentality and all that jazz. I’m basically a communist (the good kind!). But we have to stop the snack insanity! Why? Because my kids only eat about six things ever, and four of them are yellow and processed and either square- or fish-shaped. So if you’re bringing chick pea salads or fresh broccoli, that’s endlessly thoughtful, and we’re all really impressed that your kid considers that a snack, but my kid ends up feeling hungry. And if you’re swinging in the other direction and bringing king-sized Hershey bars? Your generosity is admirable and your cool points are sky-rocketing, and we’re all really jealous that your child doesn’t react to 41 grams of sugar like a frat boy on bath salts, but my kid ends up either pissed AF at me for not being allowed to devour a king-sized Hershey bar an hour before bedtime (weeknight soccer games are the worst!) or sobbing in time out. And don’t get me started on how impossible it is to explain to younger siblings why Sissy alone gets wicked snacks thrown at her as we climb into the car and she wedges between their two car seats twice a week on the way home from games.
Stop the snack insanity because it’s 6:15 on a Monday night, and here I am in the grocery store, panic-buying tomorrow’s soccer snack, and I don’t know jack squat about what I need. How many kids are on the team? Do I need food and drink? Can I get away with just these squeezy applesauces, or do I need to add something more solid? What did they eat last game? Was it better than my snack? Twenty-eight bucks sure feels like more than I want to spend on snacks. Do any of the kids have allergies? Is my babysitter going to drop the kids off before I get home? I wasn’t supposed to stop anywhere, but after a full day of work and an hour commute, I simply couldn’t face this shopping trip with three kids in tow. And did you know Hillary Clinton was campaigning in the city I work in this afternoon, so my commute was even longer than usual? DID YOU EVEN CONSIDER CLINTON CAMPAIGNING WHEN YOU SCHEDULED ME TO BE SNACK PARENT?
Does this raise larger questions about my parenting in general? About my involvement in my children’s lives? About my civic responsibility to understand peanut allergies? Of course it does. But I don’t need some last-minute, rescheduled weeknight soccer game to elicit that.
Here’s the thing: I am legally and morally responsible for feeding my own child already. And you are for yours. And for the most part, that’s been working our just swell. How about we use this sisterhood deal to say, “Hey, mama, let’s make this easier on ourselves.”