If you ask any server what the worst part of being a server is, the answer would be universal- bad tippers. No one can figure out 15% like a server.
Last night, I waited on a table of two young people. Their bill was around $76. Guess how much they left me. . . Are you ready for this? $2. That's right. Two freakin' dollars. And, trust me, I provided them with exemplary service.
So, I started asking around. What can you buy with two dollars, these days? Here is the list we (the other servers and I) came up with:
2/3 of a gallon of gas
1/2 latte from Starbucks (if they offered halves)
4 cans of Natural Light
2 Trojans from the machine in the gas station
1 donut with sprinkles from Krispy Kreme
1 20oz soda
1 pack of Hannah Montana playing cards (she has playing cards?!?!)
2 Double Cheeseburgers from McDonalds
4 stamps with a little change left over
1 king size candy bar
Can you add to this list? How should I spend my $2?
Since I'm headed to Memphis this weekend, I'm thinking of driving down to Tunica, MS.
After all, I could get 200 pulls on the penny slot machine.
Friday, February 29, 2008
If you ask any server what the worst part of being a server is, the answer would be universal- bad tippers. No one can figure out 15% like a server.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Last week, I was having a conversation with a friend of mine. It went something like this:
Her: I could not BELIEVE my mother-in-law did that. Is that not the meanest thing you've ever heard?
Me: That's crazy, all right. Listen to what happened to my friend, Melissa. . .
Me: Melissa- another blogger.
Her: Oh- so, she's not a real friend.
Me: Ummmm, I kinda think she is. I would totally hang out with her. In fact, I consider lots of people my friends, even though we've never really met.
Her: No. Doesn't work like that.
And the debate continued.
What do you think? Am I a weirdo? Does anyone else do this? Am I out of line by considering you to be my friends, even though we've never met or even talked?
Cause, if you don't wanna be my friend- I want to know about it. But for now, I consider all of you my friends.
Like it or not.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
It's almost been 2 weeks, but it feels more like 2 years. I've been dealing with sick people for almost 2 weeks. First it was me, then Justin, and now, of course, Maddie.
I'm losing my mind.
At first, I didn't mind being cooped up. After all, I sure as heck didn't want to get out when I was sick. There was one day- yep, one whole day- when we all felt halfway normal. I even made it to the gym.
But, let me tell ya- one day is nothing, when you are accustomed to going four or five days out of the week. I feel like such a bum.
So far today, I've played V-Smile, colored, watched a princess movie, helped Maddie practice her letters, had a tea party, colored some more, played Candyland, catered to her every whim, and slowly, but surely LOST MY MIND.
Okay- now I feel guilty for even writing that. Usually, I don't mind doing any or all of the above. But, like I said, I've been forcibly cooped up for almost two weeks. My only outlet has been going to work. I never thought I'd say it, but I'm almost looking forward to it, tonight.
Maddie's not taking it very well, either. "Can we go to the Y?" No. "Can I go to school?" Not today. "Can we go to the mall? I won't touch anything." Sorry, hon. "Are you going to work tonight?" Absolutely.
Her moods have ranged from lovey-dovey, to needy, to bossy, to puny, to crazy hyper, to first- class whiney-butt.
I leave for work in an hour and a half. I can't wait. Did I just say that? Crap.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Maddie woke up last night with a fever of 102.5, complained that her throat was hurting and vomited. Since she has had a fever off and on since Friday, I decided to take her to the doctor.
Which leads me to this. . . Why are all of the good toys in the sick child area? As I sat in the waiting room- after Maddie vomited all over the place- I noticed all of the other sick kids. One had suspiciously pink eyes. Another had a nasty, snotty nose and a crazy, scary cough.
And, they were all playing with the toys. The germ infested, virus contaminated toys. There was nothing I could do about it. How do you tell your sick baby not to touch the really cool rocking horse? Or that super big bead thing?
"Sorry, honey, I know you are sick, but that kid over there, with the green stuff coming from his nose, just touched it. Yes, darling, I realise you just threw up on the chair, but that's different. I understand that we don't have these toys at home, and they are lots of fun, but you absolutely can not play with them. In fact, don't even look at them."
Yeah- I see that going over well. When sitting in a waiting room, for God knows how long, it is absolutely imperative to not have a screaming 4 year old. Hell hath no fury like a sick preschooler, when faced with a room full of toys and instructed to leave them alone.
I looked longingly into the well child area. There was a little boy that kept looking out the window, at the sick area. And, he wanted out.
When the door opened, to call back a sicko, he made his escape. He ran right to the toy that Pink Eye Patty had been playing with. The mom tried, but she was too late, "Nooooooo!" she screamed.
As we were leaving, Maddie wanted to play with the toys again. I wouldn't let her. I assured that we would be back. Probably next week, and probably with pink eye.
And that the little boy that got in trouble would probably be there, too.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 10:54 AM
Sunday, February 24, 2008
My sister, Jenica, is probably the most gullible person on the face of the Earth. Which resulted in many, many practical jokes, on my part.
When I was 17, she was 14 and pretty much believed everything I said. For some reason, my friend and I decided to convince her that she was an alien.
Her new name was Queen Jeneequa, from planet Zorco. She had been sent to Earth as an infant to spy on the earthlings, and report back when she turned 15. We told her this every day for a few months. At first, she didn't believe us. But, after hearing over and over, she began to have some questions. And, we just fed into it.
One of the funniest moments was completely accidental. Every night, my mom would set the dishwasher to come on at 2 in the morning. Apparently, there was a short and my sister's lights would flicker on and off, every night when the dishwasher started. We convinced her that it was a sign from her alien relatives that they needed her back sooner.
The whole thing ended one night, when my friend and I stood outside her window, with flashlights and started chanting her alien name. The next thing we knew, her feet hit the floor and we heard her running. A few minutes later, my dad came outside to check everything out.
And, that was the end of Queen Jeneequa.
I wrote this story because my dear little sister told me that she checked my blog this morning, and that the post I did yesterday wasn't a real post. How did this one do, Queenie?
There's a 24% Chance You've Been Abducted By Aliens
Even though you have a few alien abduction signs, you're almost certainly in the clear.
However, if aliens ever do come to your neck of the woods... they'll probably be coming for you!
Jenica- I did this one for you. I want you to take the test. Seriously. Take the test.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
"Mommy, I'm exercising. You told me that you feel better when you exercise. I'm TRYING to feel better."
How could I argue with that?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I've developed a bad habit. I thought I only did it around Maddie and Justin. I was wrong.
And someone at work caught me. Then, he called me out on it.
"Um, Chelsea- did you, um, did you just say 'dude'?"
Crap. I'm a 30 year old valley girl. Righteous.
I don't know when it started, but I use that stupid word all day long. Maddie shows me something new- "Cool, dude." I can't convince Maddie that I'm right, and she's wrong- "Whatever, dude." Maddie yells at me, while sitting on the potty, that she is going poo poo- "Do your thang, dude."
Tonight, I said it to an adult. He asked for me to help him- "Sure thing, dude." I. Must. Be. Stopped.
Or, should I?
Maybe I should embrace my inner valley girl. It sounds, like, totally gnarly, dude. I could, like, you know, say whatever, sounds awesomely cool.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
There's a boy in Maddie's class named Jimmy. Jimmy is a cute kid, but, well. . . he's bad. He's the boy that has to go to the "sad bear chair" every day. One day, it might be for calling the teacher a stupid, potty-head. The next day, it's because he kicked a classmate during chapel. During the Valentine's Day party, he looked at the cards that the girls gave him, threw them on the ground and told them that he didn't want any card with a stupid princess on it. You just never know with Jimmy.
There's another boy in Maddie's class named Sam. Sam is just as cute and is the most well- behaved child I've ever seen. At their Valentine's Day party, he went up to a little girl, tapped on her shoulder and told her that she looked beautiful. When he opened his valentine's, he told each child that he loved the card they gave him. Every mom wants to hug this child when they leave the classroom.
Guess which boy the girls love? They want to sit with Jimmy at lunch. They want to have their pictures made with him. They want to help him with his crafts. I don't know if, subconsciously, they want to help him, or if they just like the "bad boy".
Meanwhile, Sam is standing on the sidelines, waiting patiently. Offering sweet words of love and friendship, as the girls rush to Jimmy's side.
I don't see this trend ending any time soon. We still have junior high and high school to get through. Leather jackets vs Varsity Letter jackets. Motorcycles vs Volvos. Tattoos vs nose rings- hey, it'll be 2022, we've got to think realistically, here.
I want to tell Sam to hang in there and to keep being sweet. That the girls usually outgrow the James Dean complex and end up with the good boys, anyway.
At least she better. And, if Justin and I have anything to do with it, she will.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
When I'm out with Maddie, people always say, "She looks JUST like you." When she is with Justin, they always say, "Wow, she looks JUST like you."
For myself, I can't tell who she looks like. I think she has some of my facial expressions and definitely my attitude. I think she has Justin's nose (thank God) and his eyes.
So, I decided to let the professionals decide. And, the winner is. . .
Sunday, February 17, 2008
While I was working on Friday night, my stomach started hurting and wasn't getting better. I needed to throw up, but I just couldn't do it. Not with automatic flushers on the toilets. Not with all kinds of strangers, using those toilets. Nope, I just couldn't. So, my stomach ache didn't get any better. In fact, it got worse and worse.
Around 8:30, I thought I was going to D.I.E. Every time I went to a table, I knew there was the chance that I was going to vomit on them. Not good. Another table was seated in my section. Since it was only 2 people, and they seemed like nice, normal people, I decided to take care of them, then ask to go home.
Everything went well. I hunched over in pain, one time, but they didn't seem to notice. They didn't need much, so I was able to go sit in the cooler, in a futile attempt to feel better.
After they paid, I was walking in his direction. He got super, uncomfortably close to me, touched my stomach, and told me that there was a note for me under the credit slip. Whatever, I thought, probably just another one telling me that I was a great server and to have a great weekend.
I scratched out the name and number, but it probably wouldn't have mattered. They probably would have appreciated a call, because I sure wasn't going to do it!
Which brings me to this. . . why me?!? Did I give off a swinger-type vibe? Was it my slightly green skin color? Was it my continuous swallowing, trying to keep the vomit down?
And, now that I think about it. . . they didn't really look like what I thought swingers looked like. He wasn't sporting a 70's porn star moustache and gold pinky ring. She wasn't wearing a scandalous top with fake boobs hanging out and super tight polyester pants. Illusions were shattered. Swingers could be everywhere, dressed like normal people, and I would never know it!!!
I wondered what the proper etiquette was. Should I text her and tell her that I wasn't interested? Should I call and let them know that I'm not down wit' dat? I considered letting Justin call, but then thought that they might invite him to come along. What to do. . . what to do.
By the time I made it home, I was way too sick to even think about what I should do about it. Other than show Justin and let him laugh.
I probably would have done the courtesy call, though, if they had actually tipped over 15%. You tip under 15%, I'm not calling, much less participating in a swingin' 3-way booty call.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Since I work in a restaurant, Valentine's Day is one of the several holidays that I am required to work. And, since I think it is a made-up, stupid holiday, that forces couples to spend money on unnecessary things, I don't mind. Let them spend their money- tipping me.
And so, tonight, since I am too keyed up to go to bed, I am writing some thank-you notes to the people that made my night a success.
To the man who removed his screaming child from the table, thank you. The other patrons didn't want to hear him and this, in effect, made everyone happier. Thank you, also, for telling your wife as you were leaving, that you would be getting a babysitter next time.
To the lady who was giving a toast to her man, thank you. Thank you for not causing a scene when he, in the middle of your toast, asked for more ranch dressing. And, to the man, thank you for making me appreciate the allure of ranch.
Thank you to the 90ish couple that held hands. It made my night, seeing you still in love. And thank you for leaving waaaay before me, so I didn't have to be on the road while you were driving home.
I would also like to thank the Nashville Metro Transit Authority for putting a bus stop in front of the restaurant. It sure helps with our clientele. It also helps knowing that they are eating on a schedule, and we can hurry them out.
Thank you all of the customers who believe that nothing says romance like some Red Lobster garlic biscuits.
And, last, but definitely not least, to the little busser girl with bright blue eye shadow, thank you for stealing my last table's tip. I'm thankful because now, I know to keep an eye on you and I have told all of the other servers to do the same. I realize that you probably stole someone's social security card number, in order to get this job, but please, don't touch my money. We are on to you. Short translation: No robe mi dinero otra vez. Got it?
One day, set aside for love. The balloons, the candy, the stuffed animals- I. Don't. Get. It. Why take one day of the year to show someone that you love them? I doesn't make sense to me.
For me, it is more romantic for my husband to surprise me with a milkshake in the middle of summer, than to give me flowers on Valentine's Day. For me, I would rather cook Justin his favorite meal, just because he wants it- not because it is Valentine's Day. Do I cherish Maddie's pictures more on Valentine's Day, than I do on any other day? Of course not.
Thanks to Rachel, From the Land of Monkeys and Princesses for this awesome graphic.
Now, I off to Target. To buy gifts for Maddie's preschool teachers, because not everyone in her class feels the same way I do. I looked like the bad mommy again, because I didn't bake a loaf of home-made strawberry bread, shaped in a heart. I brought strawberry jell-o.
It's red. What more could they expect from me?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
I'm being stalked. It started about a month ago. . .
I was on the treadmill, running and minding my own business. A little, old Asian lady got on the treadmill beside me and started walking. A few minutes later, I felt a tap on my shoulder. In her broken English, she said, "You run faster, but I do more sit-ups." I look at her, Doesn't she know that I don't talk to people at the gym? I listen. When headphones are in, conversation is o-u-t. "Really, that's great." I respond and change the channels, so it is clear that I don't want to talk.
About an hour later, I see her in the ab room. I start doing my crunches and she plops down beside me. "You did 25, watch me- I do 30." I'm stuck. What could I do? So I watch her and hope that I never see her at the gym again.
But, I do. I see her almost every time I go. And she follows me. If I'm doing bicep curls, she meanders over and shows me how many she can do. She challenged me to see who could do more lunges. I tried to tell her that I have a set program, and I don't like to deviate from it. She didn't really care. So, I added more weight to my reps, hoping she would give up and find someone else to harrass. That didn't work.
As a result, my arms and legs are toned a little more, because I just can't let a woman that is 20 years my senior, and wears a leotard to work out in, beat me.
So, I'm trying a new strategy, to outwit my stalker. For the last week, I've kept track of when she likes to go to the gym. I've noticed what classes she likes to go to, and I try to get my workout done, while she is in a class. I know which cardio machines she likes, and doesn't like, and plan accordingly. I know she does her free weights and abs after cardio. I know that on Tuesdays she wears a really ugly red headband with purple tights and a t-shirt.
Who's the stalker, now?
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 9:51 AM
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I was tagged for by Amy for this 123 book meme. Sounded like fun because Justin and I are involved in a couples Bible study, and we are studying a really cool book.
Here are the instructions:
1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people
The book I'm reading is The Life You've Always Wanted by John Ortberg. I have to admit that I haven't made it that far in the book, and I'm not really sure what this is going to be about. Here goes:
Perhaps the least-practiced form of servanthood today is what Bonhoeffer called "the ministry of holding one's tongue."
Often we combat our evil thoughts most effectively if we absolutely refuse to allow them to be expressed in words. . . It must be a decisive rule of every Christian fellowship that each individual is prohibited from saying much that occurs to him.
Hhhhhmmmm. I think that is exactly what I needed to read today. Funny how that works, huh?
Now, for the tagging. . . I tag SarahO, Latte Mommy, My Sassy Pants, and whoever else wants to do it. I didn't tag 5- oops.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Yesterday, at church, our preacher told us to think about the best day we've ever had. Was it the day you were born? The day you started walking/talking? How about the day your child was born? The day you were married? The list went on and on. Then, he said to take a couple of seconds, turn to whoever is next to you (Justin), and tell them.
Simultaneously, we said the same thing. The day Maddie was born.
Then, the preacher said that he could tell everyone what their best day was. It's today. Today is the only day that we are living in right now, might as well make it the best one possible. I decided that it's worth a shot.
After fixing Maddie a breakfast of a banana and some cheese cubes ( I know, I know- but if it's going to be my best day, I'm not fighting with her over her breakfast choices), we headed to the gym. All of the ellipticals were taken, but it wasn't a big deal. Today is my best day. I just did some free weights, until one became available. Next, I decided to stretch and do abs. Every mat was taken. Today is my best day. I found a corner that wasn't taken, grabbed one of those cheapo mats, and tried to stretch without getting plastic rug burn. Today is my best day.
I decided to shower at the gym, since I had such a tight schedule this morning. I walked in, and there were no naked old ladies standing aroung, chit-chatting. Hooray- Today is my best day. I start washing my hair, lots of sweat equals lots of shampoo, in my book. A lady calls out, "Excuse me, lady in the shower?" How exactly do you respond to that? I hoped she didn't want me to share my shampoo. "Um, yeah- over here." In her cheery voice she informs me that a water main had burst and they were shutting off the water, immediately. Today is my best day?
Ug. My hair was full of suds. I started trying to rinse it out, and the water pressure was getting weaker and weaker. Best day? I still needed conditioner. I put some in, mixed it with the soap suds, and stood closer and closer to the shower head- sure that someone with a staph infection had done the same thing. It may be my best day, but it sure won't be my best hair day, I think to myself.
We left the gym and headed straight to Maddie's playgroup. The kids were on their best behavior, the coffee was hot, and I got to hang out with some of my favorite people.
Yep, today is my best day. But, I can't wait for tomorrow.
Because a day with a completed shower can only be better.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Co-worker #1: You know, Jamie, you are really pretty. If you lost some weight, you could be a model.
Co- worker #2: Oh thanks, Ms. DeeDee. If you lost some weight, you could be a porn star.
I love the people I work with. Seriously. I do.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Today, since cleaning is on the agenda, I thought this post was appropriate for Scrolling Saturday. And, I think Maddie is on to my game.
Oh, The Games We Play
I really don't like to clean. Most specifically the bathroom. No, wait- dusting. No, folding laundry. No, I think I hate vaccuuming most of all. Oh, screw it. I hate it all. I don't get that warm, fuzzy feeling from a clean house. All I can think when I see it is that in about an hour it will be back dirty and I'll have to clean all over again.
One Saturday morning, I had half- heartedly cleaned some of the rooms. All I really had left was the kitchen. Scrubbing countertops, cleaning out the fridge, and the floor. Maddie came to the kitchen and wanted to watch a movie. She was on a Cinderella kick and loved anything to do with her. And I swear, my very own fairy godmother put a thought in my head.
"I have a better idea. Let's play Cinderella." "Okay," she said "I'll put on a princess gown and you can be the prince."
Well, that didn't work. Let's try something else.
"How about I'll be the evil stepmother and you can be Cinderella before she got bibbity-bobbity-boo'd? Now, Cinderella- GET TO WORK!!"
She ate it up. I fixed her a mop bucket with sudsy water, gave her a scrub brush and let her go. She even started singing the sing sweet mockingbird song that 'rella sings in the movie.
It took her a little while, but my floors looked great.
I have to admit, we play this game as often as I can convince her to. After all, practice makes perfect. It works for dusting, scrubbing the sink, sweeping (swiffering). I haven't found any tapestries for her to clean, but I have hopes.
I hate to think of what I would be cleaning today if my fairy godmother hadn't been on my side that day.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 7:10 AM
Friday, February 8, 2008
Maddie loves her new magnet Snow White and Prince set. She makes up elaborate stories, creates the scenes and changes their clothes appropriately.
Yesterday, she brought me her newest masterpiece. She called it "Snow White 3"
One more reason I should have watched a little more Little House on the Prairie and a lot less of Jerry Springer when I was pregnant.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 11:42 AM
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Do you ever feel like you just don't stack up? As a mom? Or a wife? No? I guess I'm the only one, then.
Most of the time, I think that I don't have a clue about being a parent. I try, I really do, but mostly, I find myself coming up short on the "good mommy ladder".
Some days, Maddie doesn't change out of her pajamas. Neither do I. Most meals are eaten in front of the tv. And those meals are usually peanut butter and jelly stirred in a bowl. While she is watching a movie, I'm napping. One of my proudest parenting moments was when she learned how to make a pot of coffee.
I do have some redeeming parenting skills, but I'll save those for a short post, later.
Yesterday, while I was on the computer, Maddie was playing quietly with her princess dolls.
"What is it, Maddie?" I didn't even look up from the screen. Bad mommy.
"Nothing. I'm just really happy that you are my mommy." My head hangs in shame.
I turned off the computer, got in the floor and started playing with her and her dolls. How I feel about my parenting skills ceased to matter. If she likes the way I do it, I guess it's okay. Right? The way I see it, she has no clue about how inadequate I really am.
And, I want to keep it that way. For as long as I possibly can.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Yesterday was Super Tuesday. I think. I'm not really sure because I was too busy watching the weather channel. Yep, 70 degrees in February with a cold front coming through, means tornados and other fun stuff.
Due to incredible technology, we watched each part of our state get ravaged by these storms, while headed straight for us. Memphis was hit pretty bad. Jackson- right between Memphis and Nashville- had major problems, involving a college dorm collapsing and 16 students trapped. And, it was coming our way.
And, I was at work. Away from my family.
Storms usually don't bother me. But, for some reason, this one did. Maybe it was the hail. Maybe it was the fact that I had to wait it out in the men's restroom, with my co-workers. Maybe it was not being with Justin and Maddie.
I made it home safely. Justin was waiting up for me. We talked about the crazy weather and watched the news for a little while. I asked him about the election, because he is a political junkie. He said he didn't really know. He was too busy watching the weather.
You know what that tells me?
If God wants to take out your state, He will. No matter who may be running the country.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 8:02 AM
Monday, February 4, 2008
Walk into any preschool girl's room, and I bet you see princesses, princess dress- up clothes or any verseion of dolls/barbies/babies. Most conversations revolve around fairy godmothers, wicked witches, and prince charmings. Their pajamas are princess gowns. And, don't try to settle for a cheap imposter. Oh, no. They can spot a fake a mile away.
Walk into any pre-teen girl's room, and I bet you see posters of Miley Cyrus and Hannah Montana. Oh wait, are they the same person? I still have a preschooler, not a pre- teen, yet. Thank God. They talk about Miley. They wear clothes with her face plastered on the front. They listen to Hannah's music. She's basically a pre-teen Oprah. They watch her show, and the lucky ones get to go to a concert. And, for those who can't go to a concert, they've made a movie.
And the phone calls began, in earnest. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out the link.) Almost 40 a day. Most of them wanting to know about the Hannah Montana movie.
Justin: Heaven's Best Carpet Cleaning
Lady: What time does the Hannah Montana movie start?
Justin: Oh, they canceled the show. I heard that she's pregnant. (She's not, he was just really tired of all of the phone calls.)
Lady: WHAT?! ANOTHER ONE? freaks out and hangs up the phone. Never calls back.
Another lady didn't take it so well. He told her that it wasn't showing. She went nuts and asked about refunds. He told her to talk to his manager. She hung up and called back. We let the voicemail get it. She called back.
Crazy Woman: Who. Is. This?
Me: This is Rosa.
Crazy Woman: WHAT?! Do I have the wrong number?
Me: Um, yeah. You do.
Crazy Woman: Well, who was the smart- a** who f*&^ing told me the f*&^ing Hannah Montana movie was f&^%ing cancelled.
Me: I hope you don't talk like that during the movie. I don't think Billy Ray would approve.
Okay, I didn't really say that last part, but it would have been so cool if I had. I thought of it right after I hung up on the crazy woman. You know, because she was cussing me out when she dialed the wrong number.
The paper said that because of the popularity, the movie was being extended beyond the original week-long showing. Possibly for a month. Great.
Miley Cyrus is going to take over the world, isn't she?
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Balloons: not much
Ariel Cake: a little more
Pizza, drinks, and tokens at Chuck E. Cheese: a crapload
Not having 16 kids and 19 adults at my apartment for the birthday party: PRICELESS
All in all, the party was a lot of fun. We only had one major snafu. I told everyone it was time for cake, and couldn't find the candles. So, while Justin went to Target, there were 8 girls sitting around the cake, drooling. Each took a turn dipping their grubby, germ ridden fingers in the icing.
And, then came present time. At one point, the girls knocked me down, trying to help open the gifts. I would rather be trying to protect a dead zebra from a pack of hyenas, than be in the middle of preschoolers trying to get to presents.
It looks like we robbed a Disney store and focused on all of the princess stuff. Maddie has already asked about next year. Justin wants to rent a tarp, spray it with water, and let the kids ice skate, for her next party.
After Friday night, it doesn't sound like such a bad idea.
Posted by pb&j in a bowl at 7:24 AM