Skip to main content

Competitive Cookie-making

I just spent the last three hours baking 8 dozen cookies, and yes, wrapping them in individual cellophane bags. (Yes, I know this is a sickness....anyone know the name for it?)

Then, the Prince just strolled in from working late and I beelined for the grocery to nab another pound of butter and some flour. Somehow I believe that if I bring in 16 dozen cookies tomorrow the (s)mothers might just leave me off their radar for another week or two. (Did I mention the fundraising auction coming up in just 2 weeks and me with nothing to donate?)

We all know this competitive parenting situation is real -- after all, Nightline stuck one of their reporters on the topic for the last 7 months and plans to air its insights in a week or two -- but what I really want to know is: HOW DO I MAKE IT STOP!

Comments

sarah said…
perhaps Nightline's indepth report will have some tips for freeing yourself from these shackles. No worries, you'll be up that late stuffing your cookies into individual baggies, so you won't miss it..
Manhattan Mama said…
You're right. I'm going to try and catch it and then give some feedback on the site for all us mamas....

Popular posts from this blog

The Grim Reaper

Firstborn is obsessed with death. It started with the odd comment, such as; "Mummy, what happens when you die?" OK, I thought, I was expecting this at some point, what a cute little curious brain she has. So I trotted out all the cosy Heaven stuff and left out all the things that could worry her, such as worms and bones and holes in the ground. This went down pretty well, although somehow Firstborn made the jump from my view of Heaven (filled with love, joy, always warm, never rains, has a huge discount designer shoe outlet and I never have to pay my Visa bill) to her own view of Heaven; a wonderous place where small girls don't have to eat their vegetables before they're allowed pudding, and where Barbie dolls grow on trees. Anyway, I digress. Last week Firstborn started shouting "Kill! Kill!" in a bloodthirsty tone while bashing her hithero-beloved teddy against the wall. This was topped by her purposely flushing her favourite My Little Pony down the loo. ...

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

A friend recently emailed me to say that her big memory of her stay with us last year is that she had a great birthday, one of the few where she didn't 'act like a spoiled grumpy princess'. She tried to give me all the credit but as I explained to her, it was all down to having a fellow female organising the birthday fun rather than leaving it to her partner. Her email got me thinking about birthdays and how very different men and women are in their attitudes to celebrating special occasions. It also had me thinking about my birthday two years ago when I threw a major tantrum in the Carrefour car-park after being told that we were off to do the weekly shop, kids in tow, which was simply the final straw at the end of a very uninspiring day. In contrast, my birthday last year was rather lovely (a morning on my own in a spa with no mobile coverage, pure selfish bliss). This year - in a few short months, eek! - I'll be hitting the grand old age of 38. This will be my las...