Tuesday my baby turned 5. I took the day off because I took the day off for his brother's birthday. Around the time I woke up I realized that the reason I took his brother's birthday off was to panic clean our house because we were having the party here. THIS party is at Mr. Chuck E Cheese's house, so why exactly did I take off. Technically I COULD spend the whole day with the 5 year old, but that wouldn't be fair since I didn't do that for the other one?! And TRUST ME, the 8yo would NEVER let me live it down. Plus, if the 5 year old didn't go to preschool, what the heck were we going to do with the 18 cupcakes that I squeezed out of that box of cake mix (Betty Crocker is a big fat liar - 24 cupcakes my ass). So, I sent him to school and promised myself I'd pick him up early.
Now that I had figured that out, what was I going to do? I should log on to work from home or I could...MASSAGE! I drove to a shopping center that had a massage place. I Walked in and asked the 23 year old Adonis behind the counter if there was room for me on the schedule. During our debate as to whether or not the massage chick could take me for the 80 minute hot stone instead of the 50 minute hot stone, he finally said shyly, "well, would you be okay if I did your massage?" Quick pause, quick pause, casual response "oh, sure, that's fine, either way"...do not jump up and down, am I smiling too much? In reality, I don't care either way as long as my back gets rubbed. I've had massages from men and from women and from women who look like men.
So, I take off to run my errands (shop for pretty things I don't need) until it's time to return for my noon(er). I shop...I try on...do I look fat in this? A little, but will I look fat the second time I put these shorts on after they've stretched out? Not as much, okay. I'll probably have to donate them after I wash (shrink) them. When did I start wearing Grandma underwear? Buy a thong - I'll wear it once and remember why I stopped wearing thongs. A few unnecessary items later and one long stroll through DSW and it's time to head back.
The massage was good with the exception that hot stone turned into his person quest to rid me of the 2 enormous knots in my back. I was neither embarrassed nor excited when he threaded the sheet in the crack of my ass like dental floss so that he could free my leg to massage it. The next day my back felt like I was hit by a baseball bat, but it was worth it. His name was Chris. I'll pretend that it is short for "Christian" for those of you who know all 50 Shades of what I'm saying. I know that it isn't - he was young and innocent looking enough to probably still be snuggling with a teddy bear at night.
I return to daycare to pick up the birthday boy. I walk into his classroom to find him sound asleep along with all the other "Friendly Frogs." They tell me that he just went down but they can get him. "No no no" I say. How long before they get up? An hour you say? "Let him sleep, I'll come back in an hour." What should I do now...PEDICURE! OK, I'm probably not kidding you, I had already been thinking pedi but maternal guilt made me drive to pick him up. It was merely a sign from above that I was supposed to get the pedi.
It was a wonderful pedi. And this woman was not trying to work knots out of my feet, so the massage part felt wonderful. I would have preferred that she did not keep my big toe in direct contact with her right breast throughout the leg massage, but hey, I was getting a rub, so who cares. I mean I preferred when Chris was half laying on me to stretch my muscles out and my hand was trapped by his chest, but I digress.
As soon as the polish was on, I bolted out the door to go get my baby. I got him and then we both went for his big brother. Then I announced my big surprise, "we're going to see the Avengers!" I reminded the little one that this meant Hulk, Thor, Iron Man... What I heard was "After that can we go to the children's museum?" from the 8yo and "Avengers is BORRRRRING" from the 5yo. But it's raining, and the museum will be closing 5 minutes after we get there. Hulk? Iron Man? Thor? I throw a mommy tantrum and say FINE WE AREN'T GOING! I am really only pissed b/c I don't have a plan D. So I keep driving toward the theater thinking the little one will come around. Um, no.
Lightning strikes and I suggest bowling. Victory. So we drive there, pay our $23 for friggin shoes and one game, oh yeah, and another $3 for socks for me since I was wearing sandals. That would have been a good time for me to remember that I had just had a pedi that I did not let dry 40 minutes prior. I did not. After shrieking at them to stop running back and forth across the room screaming, and threatening them twice. we all got ready and headed to our alley.
After 6 frames and 37 requests for a snack by his Brother, the 5yo had to pee. I finished bowling my frame and then he finished bowling his frame and I took him to the bathroom. I think I went to get a new ball, but it gets blurry here. I hear him calling for me. I go back to the bathroom and look at him crying "I PEED IN MY PA-ANNNNTTTSSSS!!!" I triaged the situation. How wet. You have to be kidding me wet. SOAKED. I mopped up the lake under him with toilet paper and then found a pond right in front of the toilet. He was THAT close. I took his pants and brought them to the car (as the bowling guy watched my rented bowling shoes walk out on my feet) where I found no other pants, but I did find zip up sweatshirt. I went back and put it on him like a kilt. I threw out his socks and we finished our game with only a few weird looks from a kid that wondered why my son was wearing a skirt. Then I put the (wet) shoes back up on the desk and ran.
I removed his underwear in the car and we hit up TJMaxx for some underwear, shorts and socks. He was sitting in the cart as instructed, but chose to do so with his knees up and his nuts hanging out. I put my purse in front of him to block the view, bought our merchandise and changed him in the women's dressing room. From there we went to dinner at his favorite (adult) restaurant. It was a friggin' Tuesday and they told me that there was a 10 - 15 wait. I told her I was going to put a gun in my mouth. She asked if that meant I wanted to be put on the list. Since threatening to shoot myself had not moved us up on the priority list, I gave her my name.
In the end, dinner was delicious and we left happy even though I failed in my attempt to buy a few bottles of Greg Norman Chardonnay (which my local wine store has stopped selling) off their wine wall. All in all, his birthday was fan-freakin-tastic. Well, you know, until I had to pick him up. Tomorrow we will celebrate again - this time with Chuck the Giant Rat. I wonder if I can put Dad in charge and go grab myself a massage.
