>Trouble in Paradise

>The other day, I mentioned the mysterious Soccer Mom Network, which is actually what I believe to be a transmitter in an undisclosed location that beams information into the brains of all the team moms. How else would I explain my innate knowledge of game times, e-mail addresses, and volunteer opportunities for my stepdaughter’s soccer team?

Apparently, though, like all new technology, the transmitter is malfunctioning when it comes to team snacks. Because what should be the easiest part of the team mom experience is using up far more of my brain cells than strictly necessary.

A team mother with any experience knows that games are not a good time to break out your favorite elaborate recipe because honestly, the girls are sweaty and nervous and they want something neat and prepackaged and unlikely to make them want to hurl 15 minutes into the game. With that in mind, I tend toward the trail mix packs from Sam’s Club or granola bars. Simple. Healthy. Perfect.

So imagine my displeasure when I got a call at the start of last season from what was clearly a Rookie Team Mom.

BARBARA: Hello, Lindsay? This is Barbara Novicello. We’re both on the list to provide snacks for the game next week, so I wanted to call and talk to you about what we’re bringing.

ME: Okay. Um, well, there are 30 girls on the team, so why don’t you bring 18 of whatever you want and I’ll bring 18 granola bars? Does that work for you? ……. Okay great. Bye.

BARBARA: Well. I was thinking of bringing bagel halves from Bruegger’s and whipping up a really healthy protein mix to spread on top of them. Along with sliced strawberries.

ME: Interesting. Okay, bye.

BARBARA: And you’re bringing. Granola bars.

ME: Kroger Brand, baby. With chocolate chips.

BARBARA: …….

ME: Okay, so. See ya next week!

Barbara hasn’t spoken to me since, probably because from what I gathered, the “protein mix” bagels remained pretty much untouched, while the granola bars were gone in 60 seconds. What can I say? I may look like a bimbo second wife, but after five years and a few hundred soccer games, I actually know what I’m doing.

This year, though, the transmitter malfunction seems to have only gotten worse. Because yesterday, I told Carol, the mom in charge of coordinating team snacks that I’d be happy to provide snacks for another away game, and I got what I think might have been the vaguest of vague refusals in response. It was like a deleted scene from the original Stepford Wives. Only far more disturbing.

“Well, I don’t know if that’s going to work out this year,” she said. “The snacks are an interesting thing, you know. With the other mothers, I’m wondering what’s going to happen. This season, who knows how things will shake out.”

“Maybe you misunderstood me,” I said. “I’m just saying I’ll bring snacks. For an away game. Like I do every year. Name the date.”

“It will be interesting this year,” she continued, shaking her head.

“Do you need volunteers?” I asked.

“Volunteers this year are a little different from past seasons,” she ruminated. “The snacks are a concept that leaves some doubt. Leaves some doubt. Leaves some doubt. Leaves some…”

With that, I grabbed Carol’s elbow and gave her an abrupt shake. She paused, then said, “See you later,” before calmly walking on to her car.

“Who are you? And what have they done with Carol?!” I called out after her as she walked away.

I knew then that our husbands were most likely not at work at all, but instead deep in conference within some enormous secret mansion, sweating over their broken Soccer Mom Transmitter. Because today, it’s just team snacks. But tomorrow, we might find that that strange and disquieting urge to stay away from the shopping mall has lifted. Or that we no longer feel the need to cook dinner every single night of the week. Or we might even realize that our sexy lingerie is not only uncomfortable, but also totally unnecessary when it comes to getting the job done.

Yep. They’d better get that transmitter fixed soon.