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Whoa, Momma!

Sharon Kennedy Wynne, Tracey Henry and Suzannah DiMarzio

Always the bridesmaid never the wedding planner



Remarkably, I have been able to prolong this particular rite of parental responsibility until today. This Mom_scream very scary, I-fear-for-the-safety-and-mental-well-being-of-your-children day.

Hiding in the after school hours cutting out box tops or construction paper Bingo cards, I have managed to complete the majority of my volunteer hours as a mere drone in the elementary school hive without even the mere suggestion of ascending to the throne of Queen Bee.

Until now.

This year, I find myself with the awesome responsibility of Committee Chair: a title so awe-inspiringly powerful, it sends fear through the hearts of parents, teachers and outside vendors who, clutching their checkbooks and Friskars, run for cover when Madame Chairwoman passes with her clipboard and school directory.

Don’t get me wrong, every event needs that special person to make it successful whether it is a simple school bake sale or the 2012 Winter Olympics in Fiji. But that leader must be organized, talented, creative and willing to actually communicate with their fellow humans outside of Facebook and Twitter status updates. Sadly, I am none of those things.

My event is a relatively simple one in comparison to the others -- I think they lobbed me a softball with several Room Parent spotters backing me up in the outfield -- but I shudder at the probable disasters that could result with having me in charge of schoolchildren and a rented helium tank. For every Sno-Cone vendor, there will have to be at least two orthopedists on site. Our banquet tables will have to double as triage beds. And I am going to have to hire a balloon artist who can make a poodle out of crime scene tape. You do realize that deposits are non-refundable, right?

It’s not that I don’t want to do my fair share of the work as a volunteer, I am just much better at baking the Angel Food for the Cake Walk than auditioning a 10-piece band to sing to it. I am the bridesmaid at this marriage of fun and -draiser. Please just let me bustle something or carry the gifts to the car -- J. Lo can book the hall and yell at the caterers over her Bluetooth.

But perhaps after this eventual debacle, (and the subsequent trial and jail time) my fellow parents will come to the same harsh realization that I have years ago: The only chair I belong in is saddled up to a table at Starbucks while I wait for their vanilla lattes.

-- Tracey Henry, the Suburban Diva


[Last modified: Thursday, May 13, 2010 11:03am]


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