This afternoon Devon and I attended a birthday party of a ittle girl who attends the preschool where I teach. I am not sure how Devon made the cut but I know the wee lass is a clever little thing and the more guests she has the better her loot haul. Last night Devon and I headed to the girl aisle at Target and chose an apporpriately horrid Barbie object with much sparkle. And today we went to the party. Easy enough. But not. Here’s the thing: my life is a precarious balance at best, add to that a party with a gazillion children, most of them who attend the school where I teach, toss in an un-walled tramp, a zip line, a tree house where the only entrance is some sort of climbing rope, adult sized skate ramps, an open fire pit where logs the size trees are burning and parents drinking beers…and guess ends up manning the zip line? Yup. Miss Heather. Holy fuck. I thought I was going to keel over with an aneurism right then and there. Everywhere I looked was DEATH. Devon had so much fun he passed out cold inthe car on the way home. And the only way knew of healing my pain was to cook up a steak. Yes, me. I was a vegetarian up until five years ago when I was pregnant with Devon. And now I’m eating red meat on Good Friday, the holy of holy days. I’m going to hell with a full tummy.
The many death traps at the Good Friday birthday party. My stomach still hurts from it all, or maybe that is the steak….
