The 21st Century SAHM

A common criticism of this current generation of spawns is that they are weak. Coddled. Unable to handle adult challenges. I am partly annoyed and offended by this judgment; the other part of me completely agrees. I am thankful that my kids haven’t had to face war, starvation, death, and real fear beyond a spider. But I am also concerned that if and when a true obstacle comes their way, they may not be ready—that any of our kids will be ready. Because when that challenge faces them, you know what might not be there? A fricking snack.

That’s right, parents. This is a real problem. The need for a snack to magically appear in our children’s hands at 30-minute intervals throughout the day is making them spoiled and believing that snack is an actual meal. And a necessity.

I have adjusted (not entirely willingly) to the after-game / after-practice snack trend. You know the one. If your kid plays a sport or does any physical activity beyond blinking for more than 30 minutes, you are required to sign up to bring snack one week. Not sure how or why this is a thing. Pretty sure we played for 3 straight hours growing up and our parents threw us a Cheerio or two afterwards, but whatever. Such is life in 2016 suburbia.

I have also accepted that “snack expectations” are continuously evolving. Just when I thought I was all good with bringing Gatorade and cookies, I was met with the “snack bag.” After my 3-year-old’s “game” every week (quotation marks needed there), he has been provided with a bag in which he will find a juice box and at least TWO SNACKS, such as pretzels AND fruit snacks, etc. A fricking BAG of snacks is the new thing. For THREE YEAR OLDS who pretty much stand around picking their noses while almost peeing themselves.

But fine. I got my ass on board with that one too.

But then this past week I dropped my 5-year-old off at art camp. ART CAMP. Camp is 90 minutes long. It’s held indoors in the morning, nestled comfortably between “breakfast” and “lunch” (lost English words that have been taken over by our snack epidemic). I walked her in on the first day with clothes on her body and shoes on her feet. That’s it. And upon check-in, the instructor greeted me with, “You can put her snack on the counter there.”

WHAT.

“I’m supposed to bring snack for her?” I replied.

“Well… You don’t have to, but you can if you want.”

I glanced over at the counter and saw nine snacks happily lined up all in a row. There are 10 kids in the class. You do the math.

Shit. Although I did not believe for a second that my daughter needed a snack, as she just ate breakfast 11 minutes ago, and although I’m a cheap-ass and kind of thought she should be making timeless masterpieces for the entire 90 fricking minutes that I paid for…

…I’m also not one to let my kid be embarrassed. Especially this kid, my only daughter and middle child, who is often stuck in the dust storm between one brother’s big-kid events and the other brother’s tantrums.

“There’s a vending machine downstairs if you want to get her something,” the instructor offered.

Okay. So I checked out the vending machine, which obviously only takes cash despite the fact that it’s 2016, and as usual my purse was empty of all non-plastic currency. But don’t give up yet! I told myself. I’ll bet there’s change in the 4-wheeled abyss of dirty shoes and granola bar wrappers that drove us here. Let’s look.

The boys and I got to work, bravely sticking our fingers under seats and finding random nickels that were semi-adhered to the van carpet by old fruit roll-ups. One kid excitedly found a quarter, but that jackpot celebration was short-lived when we looked closer and learned it was a Chuck E. Cheese token. However, after a committed search, we did scrounge up enough change to purchase sister a snack. Good work, team.

We then drove around for an hour (as we did not even have enough time to go home and come back), and returned to camp to pick her up. She came bouncing out the doors, grinning with happiness.

And holding her vending machine popcorn that she didn’t have time to eat. 

Tomorrow, Mommy will pack a “real snack” for her 90-minute indoor coloring camp. Hopefully the camp craft will be a “Mom of the Year” necklace, because Momma needs one.