Sparkling Escapades Abroad with the Fairy Bra Mother

Why, oh WHY, do we wait
Until the absolute last minute
To do reports,
Fill out forms,
Or even think about leaving for an appointment?
Meanwhile the clock is absolutely side-eyeing me like,
“Good luck with that.”

This time of year?
Nope.
Hard pass.
Ggrrrr… I’m done.

Sean holds the fancy titles —
Secretary.
Historian.
Messenger.
Reporter.
Very official. Very impressive.
So tell me why his name is on the report
When I’m the one doing the brain work?
He reports it…
I survive it.

Now, respectfully —
Sean thrives on math.
Numbers bring him joy.
They line up neatly for him.
Math, however,
Is not my strong suit.
And yet… here I am.
Once again.
Volunteered.

Then arrive The Numbers™:
161 members,
39 youth,
61 households,
68 pre-youth —
And Sean asks, ever so casually,
“So… how many are we altogether?”

Sir.

Sure. Easy.
161 + 39 + 68 —
Except… wait…
The youth are mostly members.
The pre-youth?
Some are members.
Some aren’t.
Some fall into a category known only to reports past…
patiently waiting to grow up and declare themselves.

If I’m bald the next time you see me,
Please understand —
This was not a fashion choice.
This was math-induced trauma. ✨👩‍🦲

And let’s not forget the movers —
Three families,
One widow,
One single sister —
Some moved to Chatfield…
But Chatfield isn’t organized yet…
So are they ours?
Theirs?
Shared custody?
Floating members drifting between congregations?

Oh! And the young man who moved in May —
Did his membership transfer?
Excellent question.
Answer:
HMMM, Nobody knows!

So here I am, respectfully —
On the day of the meeting,
Solving riddles,
Guessing answers,
Crunching numbers that refuse to behave,
Trying very hard not to remove the rest of my hair
One strand at a time.

Signed — respectfully,
Your wife,
Your unpaid math department,
And your nearly-bald friend
Headed to yet another business meeting adventure.

And In the End…

And to be fair —
he did say thank you.

He admitted it was stressful,
that the numbers were messy,
that the timing was… questionable.
He said —
he couldn’t do it without me.

And somehow,
through clocks ticking,
numbers refusing to behave,
and membership questions with no answers —
I stayed mostly calm.
(Mostly.)

He hasn’t even seen the poem yet.
Which honestly makes this better.

So yes —
there was math.
There was stress.
There was mild hair loss.
But there was also teamwork,
a quiet “thanks,”
and the knowledge that
even in the last minute chaos…

we still showed up together.