I read the list with dread. As my eyes scanned further down the page, my panic grew. There was my name. Second from the bottom. This was not good. Second from the bottom was definitely not good. It wasn't quite as bad as dead last, mind you. But, it still wasn't good.
My husband walked into the kitchen. Observing my obvious distress, he inquired, "Are you okay?"
I replied simply, "The list came out today. It isn't good."
"THE list," I confirmed.
He ran a hand through his hair with mild angst. "How bad is it?"
"We're second to last."
A ragged sigh escaped his throat. "I'll call the financial advisor."
It was the snack schedule for T-Ball. Oh, I know that sounds innocent enough. The snack schedule. How bad can that be?
And sure, it isn't... if you're early on the list. If you're first on the list, you can get away with orange slices and a granola bar. But, the second mom on the list has to bring orange slices and Whole Foods granola bars.
The third mom on the list has to bring Whole Foods granola bars, gourmet oranges imported from Guatemala, and cupcakes. The fourth mom has to bring gourmet oranges imported from Guatemala, cupcakes, and granola bars that she made by hand from wheat she grew in her backyard.
It just gets worse and worse as the season progresses, each week's mom with the arduous task of being just slightly more awesome than the mother of the week before.
By the end of the season, you're bringing 8-course snacks, handcrafted by the finest chefs in Paris. Cupcakes in the shape of baseball bats, apples you've carved into mitts.
It's not good, friends. It's not good at all.
"At least we're not last!" I called upstairs.
I don't think he was comforted.