Skip to main content

(S)mothers Strike Again

It's fundraising time at The Rabbit's nursery school -- planned for the last 3 months by an intrepid bunch of (s)mothers who I swear make me twitch every time I am around them. At one meeting I was asked point blank "What do you do and what can you get for free?" Uh...how 'bout nothin'. Does nothin' work?

I admit. I am not very good at asking for donations. What I have done though? I have baked cookies for endless bake sales (as readers of Mothers know....), sold hundreds of dollars worth of scary chocolates that were probably made in 1999, and brought umpteen snacks, donated art supplies, etc... for her class and her school.

But did I get a credit on the little booklet that has been emailed to us all? Nope. Only the (s)mothers who actually contributed to this specific event got their snippy names in print. Forget the Mothers who baked the Cookies that paid for the Coffee the (s)mothers drank while they all congratulated themselves for planning the event.

Watch. The next time one of my homemade chocolate chip cookies appears in that school it will be tucked into The Rabbit's lunch box. As for the bake sale in two weeks to cover the printing costs for their brag books? (Oh yes, they've already alerted me....) My Kitchen Aid's in the shop.

Comments

Kate B. said…
MM - we have to hatch an evil plan. Those (S)mothers are utterly ghastly. Nobody gets away with being mean to my friend MM. Nobody. Are you listening, (s)mothers? Vengeance WILL be mine.

(I can't believe they didn't even give you a baking credit, the witches). Seems to me they're emotionally stuck in a cheerleader camp timewarp - actually, maybe that's punishment enough...
Manhattan Mama said…
Seriously. The idea of pompoms really frightens me. But I'm liking this idea of an evil plan -- LOVING it. Let's plot!

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...) Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

A thought

Perhaps sometimes a gift can be delivered in the guise of a tragedy. It's just a matter of perception, after all. I suspect that the talent lies in looking beyond the surface to what lies beneath and beyond. And, of course, being able to make sense of it all and going on to apply that knowledge to building a productive way forward. Here's hoping.

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...