As a marketing professional, I would never dream of being a Chief Financial Officer. No way in hell! My brain simply isn’t wired to deal with the dry world of profit and loss statements, Sarbanes Oxley oversight and treasuries. I’ll pass – regardless of the paycheck size.
Yet, with a solid eight years of motherhood on my resume, I can claim the title of CFO. Chief Forms Officer.
Based on my discussions with fellow moms, I am going to make the bold assumption that 99.9% of the paperwork is handled by MOM. The medical releases, emergency cards, PTA sign-ups and endless policies to sign. Can’t this be automated?
And let’s not forget the yearbook sign-ups, class lists, field trip permission slips, fundraisers and the checks. Oh the checks! Writing those can be especially painful.
How did the mounting paperwork become my sole responsibility? It can definitely feel like a painful second shift after a long day at the office.
If I was smart, I would photocopy some of these completed forms so I wouldn’t have to hunt down the info from multiple sources every single time.
But I like cruel and unusual punishment, and my brain is toast at the end of the day. So after the paperwork is complete, I can only muster enough energy to shove the piles in my kids’ respective backpacks and sigh.
Am I being a little over-dramatic? Perhaps.
But admit it – you secretly seethe over this task as well. Yes, I’ve inherited the title of CFO at home, but if my husband wants to take it over, I’ll gladly relinquish the job.