Note: I wrote this last year, when W was one and I wasn’t pregnant with #2. But I’m still questioning my sanity, as well as the whole “Santa Experience” sign-up process, so I thought it was worth sharing.
I’m starting to wonder about the kind of parent I am.
I mean, I know I am a good, kind, and funny parent. But lately I have been wondering if I am slowly crossing into insanity. Here are two pieces of evidence that may prove the theory.
First: My best friend is getting married, and as co-MoH I am organizing her bachelorette and shower...on the same weekend...at my house. I have planned a fancy dinner out and a trip to a vodka bar, and this will be amazing fun, but I am not what I used to be. I can’t walk in heels and “club.” I don’t wear Spanx (but might have to start), I don’t order bottle service, and while I have NO problem getting drunk, I physically just cannot be hungover. It is actually painful and lasts a minimum of one day for each bottle of wine I drink. I am also hosting the bridal shower the next morning — post “club” and mid-hangover. Insane. Don’t worry, I’m an organized person; I printed make-ahead recipes and ordered cupcakes. The other MoH is bringing mimosas; it will be all right. Just keep telling yourself that, right?
All this is fine, however LAST weekend I invited over fifty people to our house for a Halloween party. It was good times and the kids (I think I have to stop saying “babies”) were just too cute for words. (Amazing costumes included a ladybug, Princess Leia, a turtle, a lion, a fireman, a cat, a pumpkin, and a puppy!)
What I wasn’t thinking when I thought, “Oh, let’s have some friends over and look at costumes” was, “OMG, I have to be the world’s best friend and hostess in six short days.” Now as I look around, I see I have to take down plastic bats from my ceiling, peel weird plastic blood drippings off my window, and pick up over 250 balls from the playroom floor (husband bought the balls, as if that needed to be clarified), and then transform my place into Martha Stewart’s chic city pad complete with eggs Florentine and bacon biscuits! Fuck. Oh, yeah, and while I do have the perfect gift for my perfect best friend, I forgot to drop it off weeks ago (I’ve had it since May) to get framed and am now paying a rush charge of $40. Fuck. (Side note: I am cheap, and things like “rush” charges at quaint framing stores bug me to no end.) I called the cleaning lady; she’s coming over. One spark of sanity.
Second: I thought I would wear a cute, pre-baby black dress to the bachelorette weekend of amazing-ness. False. That dress looks like someone who just had a baby is squeezing into something too small. So I rushed out last night to the local “nice” mall (i.e., not my usual mall, which actually has an eyeglass store called “Spexx” and a hat store called “Lidz”). I had one hour and fifteen minutes, and I tried on three dresses in store #1, and two were decent. I had one hour left to peruse. Then, I saw it, a big line in the middle of the mall. I thought, what are all these people lined up for? A blood donor clinic? A book signing? NO! Santa!! WTF? (Remember how I said it was just Halloween?) So, I read the big poster: Sign up for Santa, in person only. OMG — what to do? Shop for myself or stand in line to secure a Santa Experience? You guessed it, I stood in line. Fuck. Insane. I know. I texted my husband thinking he would say, “Silly, go shop, buy yourself something pretty.” What he actually wrote was, “Sign. Him. Up.” So, at least if I am insane, he is too.
This was the first day of Santa sign-up, and the woman behind me told me that people were there right when the mall opened that day and waited four hours to sign up. Take a second and soak that in, people. They spent four hours of their lives waiting to sign their kids up to see Santa. At a mall. We all know he isn’t real, right? Twenty-four hours later I am still unsure whether I did the right thing. W has no idea who Santa is, or what the difference is between a “Santa Experience” and watching Elmo on YouTube.
In case you actually remembered that this was about a dress, don’t worry, I ran back to the store and bought a tight leopard-print number. I think that is my third and final example of insanity. Leopard print? Yep, yep I did.
I rest my case. I am an insane mother who hosts back-to-back events in my own home, signs my kid up for things called “The Santa Experience” one and a half months in advance, and buys cougar dresses. What shocking personality disorders will next week reveal?