Mom Life Humor: Why My Kids Think I Work for DoorDash

My kids genuinely think I work for DoorDash. And honestly? They might be right. I don’t wear a uniform, but I do deliver food 47 times a day, often under duress and with a toddler wrapped around my leg. This isn’t satire. This is mom life humor. 

The day I became a human delivery service

It all started when my four-year-old asked if his grilled cheese “would be here in 20 minutes or less.” I froze. My toddler banged a spoon like a tiny dictator. My daughter yelled from the living room, “Mom! You forgot my ranch!”

And there it was. My realization. They think I work for DoorDash.

Between the nonstop food requests, snack deliveries, and re-deliveries because “this isn’t what I ordered,” I basically do. And I don't even get tips—unless you count sticky hugs and the occasional half-eaten goldfish cracker.

The delivery never ends

It’s not just mealtime anymore. It’s all the time. Snacks, second snacks, third snacks. “I want something crunchy but soft” — what does that even mean? My toddler once rejected a string cheese because it looked too stringy. The next day, he cried because I didn’t string it enough.

This is the job. This is the mess.

At this point, I’ve memorized everyone’s preferences better than a five-star server. I’ve served yogurt in three different colored bowls in one morning because the whole family was in a mood. I've delivered a banana upstairs like it was a spa day essential, only for it to be rejected because “bananas are yucky now.”

Every delivery comes with a side of guilt. Because even when I say no, even when I try to enforce boundaries, there’s a whisper in the back of my mommy brain: What if they’re really hungry? And so I give in. Again.

The five-star reviews are in (and I may not be the favorite parent)

And by "reviews," I mean funny quotes that will haunt me forever. Like when my daughter whispered with deadpan seriousness, “Mommy, this toast is a little off. You should pretend to be someone else next time.”

Or when my son declared, “You’re not a regular mom, you’re a snack mom. Like... from the phone app.”

Great. I’ve officially been demoted from best mom to snack mom to the other parent that just doesn't get it, then side-shuffled into gig-economy status. All while wearing pajama pants I think are clean.

This isn’t just parenting, it’s performance art. And the audience? Relentless.

Smile for the photos (But only If the kitchen’s clean)

People always say, “You’ll miss this one day.” But will I miss being screamed at because someone’s juice cup is the wrong temperature? Will I miss the messiness that somehow regenerates every time I clean one room?

I scroll through Instagram, see polished photos and videos of moms in matching outfits with their kids. They’re all smiling. Their kitchens? Spotless. The captions? “Just embracing every little moment .”

Meanwhile, I’m trying to caption my latest mom life humor post with something like:

“POV: You made dinner but didn't cut the pasta in triangles.”

Embrace the chaos (even if you’re cry-laughing)

Honestly, laughter is survival. It's the only thing standing between me and a nervous breakdown over spilled milk. Literally.

I once sat on the floor next to a puddle of juice and just... stared. The kids were yelling, my hair was in a bun I hadn’t taken out in three days, and I realized I’d been wearing one sock for five hours.

Then I laughed. That weird, slightly unhinged laugh that only another unhinged mom would understand. That’s what this is: funny and relatable, raw and ridiculous. And yeah, it helps to have a good sense of humor — otherwise, I’d just scream into the void (aka my laundry pile).

Shoutout to my fellow snackbitches

To every relatable mom who’s ever made a meal only to have it rejected because “it tastes like triangles,” this post is for you.

To the mom friends who send a meme at just the right time — thank you. You are the reason I haven’t fled to a cabin in the woods (yet).

We’re not pretending it’s easy. We’re living in the trenches with bedtime battles, weird toddler logic, and constant exhaustion. But somehow, we show up. We deliver the snack. We wipe the tears. We do it all over again the next day.

And sometimes — just sometimes — we get a hug and a whispered, “You’re the best funny mom ever,” and it’s enough to keep going.

So for the working moms and the bad moms (love that movie) and the stay-at-home moms and the work-from-home moms while still being there for their kids all day, please keep sending me funny mom quotes!

Final delivery of the day

So no, I don’t technically work for DoorDash. But I do clock long hours, deliver food under pressure, and survive off giggle-fueled chaos.

Motherhood isn’t clean. It’s not curated. It’s a mess, and it’s also kind of magic.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pick the green grapes out of the mix because the red ones are “too spicy,” apparently.

Cheers to all the snack couriers, giggle-makers, and hilarious moms out there. May your coffee be strong, your Wi-Fi stable, and your delivery routes mercifully short.