Derived from the term bitch-slapped. You know you’ve been bitch-snacked when someone points out that you’ve provided one of your kids with inadequately nutritious food.
Just last week I picked Sid up from school. The whopping six minutes that she spends at nursery school had once again flown by and I was once again on the late side of pick up. Her wonderful teachers are waiting with her and hand me her backpack.
“Sidney loved that cookie bar you gave her today.”
“… so much so that she didn’t eat a bite of her sandwich.”
I look at Sid. “What is a cookie bar and how did it get in your lunch?”
“It’s a power bar. I put it there.”
I smile sheepishly at the teachers. Why kind of crappy-ass mother doesn’t know what’s in her preschooler’s lunch?
“Oh, and let’s leave the pacifier at home next time, right Sidney?”
“I stuck that in, too,” Sid says.
Her teacher kneels down next to her and asks her if she wants to box up all her pacifiers and send them to a needy baby. Sid winks at me, as if to say, “I can’t believe people still try this.”
What I want to tell the teacher is that Sidney is a fifth child and is therefore lucky to be fed at all, even shitty little power bars. And I’m so worn out, that if she wants to walk down the aisle with a pacifier jammed in her face, I’m cool with it. Really. She has kept us up for seventeen nights in a row with a delightful blend of night-terrors, move anxiety and general two year old bitchiness. Honey, I am done.
Here’s what I also want to say: I JUST SURVIVED SEVEN YEARS IN SEATTLE WITHOUT GETTING BITCH-SNACKED ONCE! HOW IS IT POSSIBLE THAT I GET BITCH-SNACKED IN THE BRONX! I’M THE MUM WHO SCREWED UP THIS MORNING’S OATMEAL BY GOING OVERBOARD WITH THE CHIA SEEDS! THAT’S RIGHT, CHIA SEEDS! (Consequently, I was going to redeem myself yesterday, which was Sidney’s designated day to bring in fruit for the class. I’d show them what kind of mother I really am. But yesterday morning rolled around and I’d completely forgotten. I remembered minutes before school started and the only fruit we had in the house was a leftover bushel of apples from our apple-picking outing last week. I threw Sid in the car and we raced over to the A&P, which is disgusting and only sells fruit that looks like it’s been grown in someone’s toilet in the Bronx. I guess it’s at least local…)
But I say none of that. I’m so glad that Sid has somewhere to go that isn’t with me, even if it is only for 6 minutes, that I’m willing to be bitch-snacked every day of the school year. I smile at her teachers, who I really do adore. I give an extra big grin to Virginia. Sid can’t pronounce her name, and calls her Vir-ginger, which is a whole lot better than the name the kids suggested at home.
I’ll keep that to myself.