Attack of the UberMom

Yesterday was pot luck day for our play group. A mom opened up her abode for us to temporarily come in, take over, mess up the place, and then leave. Generally these are great fun, but this one was just flat out uncomfortable.

First off, I'd like to say, that having "healthy living" as the theme of the pot luck luncheon is insane. It's hard enough to think of a kid friendly recipe that everyone else will enjoy, let alone think of a super healthy one that will get the kids fed and keep the moms happy.

I was very disappointed...to say the least.

Upon arrival I had to wrangle my 13 month old into the house along with my platter of fruit salad, side of yogurt dipping sauce, my diaper bag, my itsy-bitsy Marilyn Monroe purse that holds all of two cards (my debit and my ID), and a bubble gun that my son thinks he HAS TO HAVE. I get all of that into the house to be greeted by the hostess who does not remember my name. I'M AN ORGANIZER FOR FUCKS SAKE! If you'd come to a play date every once in a while, you'd definitely know my name. I set my son down to have him be scooped up by another mom who starts playing with him, all the while his beloved bubble gun is getting snatched away by the hostess' bratty little boy. I could do nothing because I still had a diaper bag draped across my torso and a very breakable platter of fruit salad in my hands.

By this time, the bubble gun was long gone...my son sitting there all bleary eyed while the other mom who was holding him was thinking he was genuinely entertained by her antics.

I set the fruit salad down, got my diaper bag organized...and here comes the hostess.

"Hi," she says in her pot smoker tone of voice. "You're.....What's your name?" I smiled and told her. Anyway, this goes on over and over until finally all of the moms have arrived. The hostess doesn't know anyone. No one knows the hostess. It was all very blind play date-ish.

The pot luck began at 10am, and with me being the third to arrive at around 10:20am, it was about 10:45am by the time everyone was there and accounted for. The children ran around and played (mostly with my son's bubble gun) and then the uber mom who had decided earlier that she was so great at entertaining my son, decided it was story time. You can not, after all, eat lunch at 10:45am.

So she sat down with some books in front of all the children -- who could care less what book was being read -- and proceeded to read a book from the line "Virtue Valley" in her Stepford-like sing-song voice. I wanted to vomit. As if all the unfamiliarity hadn't been uncomfortable enough, my heart skipped a few beats about a page into the story when I heard the word BIBLE.

Separation of Church and play group ought to be a new amendment to the Constitution.

I felt as though the air in the room had turned to something thick and noxious as I worried the atheist mom next to me may have just lost her jaw as it dropped to the floor. I decided to let my son scurry off so I'd have to chase him. I had to leave that situation.

Finally we got on to the eating. I may be biased, but I'm pretty sure my dish was the best. Someone attempted a ratatouille...complete with noodles. It tasted like nursing home food. "Make sure you put the ratatouille WITH the noodles," she touted proudly. (And she wonder why her son won't eat vegetables) There were some tostadas that had once been very tasty (and crispy) but had been reduced to soggy tortilla chips with stale cheese on top. Something with tuna was on the table, but I refused to try it. Someone had thought it would be cutsie to make kid-friendly sushi. It sounds much more exciting than it actually was. It was really just bread with peanut butter and apple bits rolled up...quite the let down from what I envisioned when I'd read her RSVP. There was a pot of black beans. The hostess had made "ham puffs" -- whatever those things are. Someone had brought a bag of Kraft cubed cheese (my son's favorite dish there). And then there was mine -- a small culinary feat featuring what I'd had in my kitchen that morning.

"Did you try the yogurt sauce," I asked the tostada mom.

"Do I HAVE to," she asked while looking a bit annoyed with me.

I don't suppose you have to try it. It would be nice. It GOES together. I reminded myself of the ratatouille mom....("THEY GO TOGETHER.....")

When the eating was done (and I was still hungry), the hostess wanted everyone to pick the favorite dish for a prize. No one did. They all sucked...except for mine of course. No prize was handed out.

Meanwhile, the hostess' male spawn brat was still running around with MY son's bubble gun. I pulled a chewie out of his diaper bag to replace the long lost bubble gun only to have the hostess' female spawn brat take that away from him.

My poor baby. No bubble gun. No chewie.

I got my son and got out of that healthy living hell hole...and all of my fruit salad was gone. Everyone else had to pack up the rest of their uneaten food and take it home.

Next time I ask you to try the yogurt sauce -- trust me.