A few Sundays ago, I was having one of those days. No, not one of those days. The other kind. The rare kind: the kind where all of the stars line-up and you find yourself thinking, "Holy shit. I've got my shit together! I'm rocking the shit out of this day." (Does anyone else swear as much when they self-congratulate? Well, now you know what goes on in my head...)
But seriously, I was kicking-ass a few Sundays ago.
We had a 3 year-old's birthday to go to later that afternoon, and I was organized. Cole and I hand-crafted a card in the morning. We even cleaned up the mess. Then he went down for a nap at the perfect time, which meant we wouldn't be late for the party. Maeve napped well too, which was even more rare. I think I even drank *hot* coffee while *sitting.*
World Coffee Shortage: Panic Line Forms to the Left
I'm not trying to brag, but I even found time to shower, shave, get dressed, do my hair and my make-up (usually I have time to do one of these things). I can either be clean but disheveled, or dirty with mascara. Well, not this day. A few Sundays ago, I was clean and pretty. Holy shit.
And do you want to know what else I did? After I wrapped the gift I decided to add ribbon (wtf?) and then I took the scissors and CURLED THE FUCKING RIBBON. Did you just dry heave a little bit? Yeah. I know. It was a little obscene.
I actually had a cocky moment of thinking, "Maybe I shouldn't have done that. I don't want to make anyone feel bad if their gift doesn't look as pretty..." (Who thinks such an asshole-ish thing anyway? Me. That's who.)
When Cole woke from his nap, all four of us hopped in the van and made our way to the party destination 30 minutes away and no one was crying. A bloody miracle. I think I even clicked my heels together as we skipped towards the entrance of the rec centre where the party was being held. Perfect. Day.
And then... (of course there is an "and then"...) We asked which room the party was in, and the girl at the front desk reception looked at me with confusion. "Umm..." She stared at her computer. "I'm sorry, that party was yesterday."
"What? Are you serious?" I frantically opened the invite on my phone. Please come to L's 3rd Birthday party on SATURDAY. But I was having a perfect SUNDAY! Today was Sunday, and I was kicking its ass! Remember? No. No. This couldn't be happening.
The Day I Peed My Pants Wasn't As Perfect
My perfect-stars-alining-day crumbled to the ground before my very eyes.
I actually felt a little sick to my stomach. I quickly texted, called, emailed AND Facebook messaged my friend. "I'm SO SO SO SORRY! I got the wrong day. I'm at the rec centre right now. We missed the party." I even took a photo of myself (and the gift with the curly fucking ribbons) to prove that I wasn't just feeding her a piece of shit excuse for missing the party.
After I finally calmed down and took 35 deep breaths, I did what any mother in my situation would do:
I jumped into the pool with my son and we went swimming. Fuck it. We were already there.
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