Preschool Potluck Meltdown

On Tuesday, I came home from work, my head aching, my sinuses screaming, to see a photocopied recipe sitting on the counter.

"What's this?"

"A recipe for corn fritters."

"Yeah, but why do we have it?"

"It's what you're supposed to make for Joseph's potluck at school."

My mouth dropped open and I stared at Chad, my mind racing as I glanced down to read the recipe.  "We need to call his teacher. There's no way I can do corn fritters."

"Why not?  They look pretty easy."

"So many, many reasons.  First, I have to work Thursday morning which means that any cooking would need to be done the night before. I'm not sure how good fritters will taste reheated.  Second, I've never eaten a fritter, never cooked a fritter and have no idea what they're supposed to look like. And third, third," at this point my voice rose shrilly, "the recipe says that you need to separate the white from the yolk and whip the whites into soft peaks!!  And over whipping will cause the fritters to fail.  To fail."  My hands waved in the air as my voice softened into a near cry, "Doesn't his teacher realize that I work? Why didn't she assign something like pie?  Pie, I can do.  Fritters??  Soft peaks?!?"

Chad took the recipe from my hands. "Go take a Sudafed and lay down. I'll take care of the potluck."  And he did.  And he didn't make fritters. The teacher, so kind to fathers, asked him to bring something far, far easier...

Drinks.

And I know she and the other teachers rolled their eyes or tsked or made "hmm" noises when Chad explained that I wouldn't be able to make fritters.  Or I could be paranoid.

But probably not.

So, my fellow working mothers...is this what the future holds?  Requests sent home from teachers who assume you stay at home and have the cooking abilities of Paula Deen and the decorating flair of Martha?