"You look harrassed."
Now how many times have I heard that? I was squatting on the floor of the clubhouse trying to keep a squirming 4-year-old in my arms. The place was awash with grass skirts and hawaiian shirts in keeping with the Lilo & Stitch theme; coconut-tree balloon sculptures adorned every table; music blared as the emcee enticed the kids to join yet another game. You got a personalized bracelet just for showing up, and they were giving out hula hoops at the entrance. It was children's party paradise, and my son wanted to go home. And to think that we just got here. Yipee.
Our host David showed a bit of concern and checked up on me. He and Shanie have always been very gracious, even though I'm an acquaintance and it's my sis they're really close to. There were a few familiar faces from college, but I wasn't in much of a sociable mood with Miguel in my lap screaming "I want to go to home now!" Could someone just put a big neon sign above me with the words "SINGLE MOM" and label me dysfunctional? Forget about looking good, feeling glam, and trying to project as if you've got it all together. On this particular Sunday in this particular place, I DIDN'T.
Sometimes when you've given all you've got and the results are so wanting, you just wanna stick a pillow to your face and scream. (That too, I got from Lilo & Stitch.) That's the grand finale of the week for me. The end. Fin. Whoever invented the weekend ought to invent another one for parents.