mothers are mothering

Most of my coworkers are mothers or fathers.  And then there’s me.  They love to mother me and father me. I wonder if I come off as helpless or some damsel in distress?  Or maybe they are just being mothers or fathers?

For our Christmas Eve potluck, I brought store bought cookies (red velvet and chocolate chip).  To my defense, the team texted the group at 1900 about the potluck, while I was still working.  My assistant who was also in the group text, sent me a separate text, asking me if I wanted her to pick up something for the potluck since she went to Stater Brothers after getting the late notice.  I asked her to please pick out the best looking portable desserts and I would Venmo her.

At the potluck, one of the supervisors made BBQ meatballs in the slow cooker.  I casually mentioned that it tasted good to another coworker and the next thing I knew, they were packing me up a whole container full of the meatballs.  How am I going to eat all these meatballs?

My assistant made homemade Furikake Chex Mix.  I talked about how much I enjoyed eating it and then a baggy full of the Chex Mix was handed to me.  A colleague made Mexican Wedding cookies and brought me a small plate of them.  She told me to try it, which I did.  I told her that they were delicious and it melted in my mouth.  The next day, she dropped off a ziplock of those cookies, which by the way go excellent with coffee.  Another coworker felt sorry that we were working on Christmas and brought a platter of food from Lucille’s Smokehouse BBQ.

And this is why I’m going to have one hell of a time getting down to 115 pounds.  I must resist.  They are sabotaging my goals.  Haha! God help me.  It’s a blessing and a curse?