the stuff moms have to do
We just got back from the kids’ school’s Halloween carnival, during which it rains every year without fail. It’s cursed. I figured it out. Someone who practices Santeria was offended by the PTA’s high-school politics and cliquery and cursed the school carnival. If the school was smart, they’d move it back a week.
My six-year-old, Rory, won a cake in the cake walk. Hell, yeah. Red velvet. Mommy’s favorite. Too bad I’ve decided never, ever to eat sugar again, though.
My boyfriend went to a bad-ass club event last night and will go to another one tonight. And another on Halloween. I was going to get my cousin to keep the kids Halloween night so I could go out, too. But she flaked on me, right at the last minute, last time I asked her to babysit. And the tickets for this Halloween thing are $22. So I don’t want to plan on going, get a ticket, and have my cousin flake on me again. So I guess I’m just gonna stay home with the kids and nag them to quit eating so much candy.
And that’s fine. I love my kids and I love hanging out with them. I only care about the club thing when Tad’s telling me how cool it’s gonna be and how he wishes I could go. And I hate to say, “Well, that’s what I get for having three kids,” as if it’s something deserving punishment, but at the same time, seriously: That’s what I get for having three kids. Actions have consequences.
Hear me now, people. Heed my advice.
If you want to go to clubs on Halloween and dance to the music of popular DJs, don’t have kids unless you know you’ll also always have babysitters you can count on.
We’ll either rent a movie, or turn on the strobe lights and dance. Or gorge on candy and red velvet cake.
