This whole week has been awesome, and then today was just suck. Jason woke me up by asking when the pictures of the party were going to be online, because people in his office were asking– his mom was asking– and the Internet probably wanted to know, too, so– no pressure, ha ha, but WHEN? “Today,” I grumbled, rolling over. “Lunchtime, I think. My theme is almost done.”

Eli and Addie are usually absolute angels (like, if I were their babysitter and not their mom, I’d feel guilty taking money for watching them), but TODAY. What. They were fighting and crying over everything. They were fighting over who was crying more. I MORE SAD DEN BRUDDER! Addie howled, and Elias was all, MOM ADDIE SAID SHE IS MORE SAD THAN ME BUT I AM THE SADDEST! WAAAHHH! Wrong. Mommy was the saddest. My entire theme wasn’t working, I was getting interrupted every few minutes by child or phone, I was sick and possibly pregnant, all my clothes were dirty, I didn’t get to shower, and the house was in shambles. I was just cranky. And you know how, when you’re in a stressed pity party mood, even the fun stuff manages to be frustrating? That’s where this story is headed.

Yesterday, I found out our church was hosting a donations-based Parent’s Night Out. Which meant you can drop your kid off for up to five hours, and have a date night. No fee required. If you wanted to give, you could, and it would go toward a trip to Haiti for the youth group (we did: they’re doing such awesome things over there). This seemed like a brilliant idea yesterday. Today, it turned into:

4:00. Becca thinks about getting kids ready.

4:23. Becca falls asleep on the bed.

4:45. Jason leaves work.

5:30. Jason gets home because of insane construction.

5:33. Becca wakes up with the kids, now feeling queasy, still as irrationally moody as ever. Nobody is dressed except Jason, who is also tired and moody.

5:40. What are we doing? Are we still going? Did you want to see a movie?

5:42. All the showtimes are too late.

5:43. Fine. Let’s not go.

5:45. No, we’re going to go, and WE’RE HAVING A GOOD TIME. The END! Get your pants on, people!

5:51. Pluck kids into car. Elias– anxious. Addie– sobbing.

6:05. Drop children off.

6:22. Arrive at theater.

6:30. Debate spending $5 in charges at the ATM to get cash to give for church donation.

6:32. Debate spending $5 on a large Diet Pepsi. I haven’t had a single drink of Diet Pepsi since I gave it up.

6:33. Man. I want it.

6:34. It’s FIVE DOLLARS. For a drink.

6:35. I can’t.

6:36. Spend $5 in ATM charges. Grouchy.

6:38. Tell Jason how much I hate our bank, and why don’t we switch to Charles Schwab? I’ve been reading up on them.

6:39. I’m pregnant, aren’t I? I’m totally pregnant. I can’t believe how pregnant I feel.

6:52. Watching previews. Oh, a baby Kraft commercial. Of course.

6:55. Jason says something awesome. I don’t remember what it was, but it was about me being beautiful and a delight when I’m pregnant, and not a hag slash whale like I recall. That was, like, plus a hundred points to him.

7:05. Start watching “Baby Mama”.

7:30. Check time on Jason’s cell phone.

7:46. Check time on Jason’s cell phone.

8:04. Check time on Jason’s cell phone.

8:13. We need to be back by 9. We’ll have to leave the movie early.

8:22. Almost time to go.

8:34. Leave movie.

8:48. We’ll never get there in time! We’re in APEX! How are we in APEX!

8:54. Jason assuring me we’ll get there in time.

8:57. No, we won’t. I see cows. Fields and fields of cows.

8:59. Wait, we’re here!

9:02. Pick kids up. Elias runs happily to me. Addie screams NO I DON’T LIKE YOU! and runs away. Awesome.

9:10. Stop at Harris Teeter. Buy a two-liter of Diet Pepsi and nacho fixings.

9:26. Home. Kids are exhausted.

9:40. Tucking hysterical Eli in, who has gone from excited to sobbing uncontrollably in ten minutes flat. He tells me I can’t die. Don’t leave me, he wails. You’re my favorite friend in the whole world forever! I ask him where he heard about parents dying, and then I know: James and the Giant Peach. Why did I even pick that up at the library? It takes almost five minutes to calm him down about me dying, and then he launches into how small his hands are– like Baby Hands!– and how he’s not big enough to play with all the other teenagers. When is he going to be big? When will he stop having Baby Hands? WHEN!

9:52. Go downstairs, get pregnancy test.

9:53. Test.

9:56. Negative.

9:57. Not sure if I trust it. Also, this means I am just getting fat.

Okay, rewind!

Eli’s party was almost an entire week ago, so I’m going to try and describe everything I can. I’m sure I’ll be leaving something out. My memory is good, but not perfect.

Becky Jo came on Thursday. I don’t remember Thursday at all, except that we laughed a lot and probably some squealing was involved. My mom’s birthday was Sunday, and she was coming into town Friday morning. My mom just turned 50. You’d never know it to look at her: minus a few more smile lines around the eyes, she looks almost exactly as I always remember her; eternally 32, blond, banged, wearing jean shorts and a tee shirt, her mouth pursed but curled at the edges, not impressed with our shenanigans publicly but secretly finding them just a little funny. She thought nobody remembered her birthday, but we had a whole surprise planned out. My dad orchestrated it, and Michelle and I did our parts. Michelle called the hotel ahead of time and spoke to the chef, asking them to make a special chocolate and cheese tray and have it sent to the room. Becky and I bought balloons, a card, and a dozen roses, and delivered them to the hotel in person. My mom called us Friday afternoon when she arrived in tears. I’m pretty good at holding it together, but for some reason if my mom is crying, all bets are off. This is the nicest thing, she sniffled. The balloons… and the flowers… and the Nana card– it was perfect. Thank you, thank you… thank you.

You deserve it, Mom, I answered shakily, staring at whatever was on the shelf in front of me. Probably rice. It’s okay, don’t cry. This is a good day, right?The other customers were like, What drama is going down in the International Food aisle?

The party was in 24 hours, and Jason had taken the day off to help. That was three adults. My parents stopped by to deliver presents and visit, and my mom eventually stayed all night to pitch in party efforts (my dad stayed, too, but slept in Eli’s bed: long week). So, four. Audrey and Valerie showed up around 10, awake and ready to work. Six. Michelle and Ben arrived shortly thereafter. Ben didn’t work (he watched a movie and fell asleep in the living room), but Shelly was on top of it. Seven. Seven grown, extremely talented and diligent people working their fingers off, and we still didn’t get to bed until 4 in the morning.

Michelle took on all sewing (she is a master), Val and Auds did pinata, costumes, painting, and decorations, Becky and I did gift bags and painting, and my mom did the cake. Jason sort of floated in and out, hanging decorations or lending assistance wherever. We had three party games. One was a matching game. There were like 26 rubber pigs, painted red or blue on their feet. You flipped them over, and moved your color into the matching fence. It was easy. In Wind Waker, Link helps his fellow islanders gather their missing pigs up. We assumed it would be an easy game for little kids, but it turned out that EVERYONE loved the pig pen game. Who knew.

Second game was letter sorting (also in Wind Waker). We made bean bag envelopes with different colored images on the front (like fire, water, heart) and they had to toss them into the matching mail slot. Easy. The last game was the water race, which was both the biggest failure and success. Jason made miniature versions of the King of Red Lions boat from the game. He built a water table, painted it blue, and then made an island and barrels for the boats to steer around. You had to blow their sails down the water table to the finish line. It didn’t work the way it was supposed to. The island detached, the grout leaked, the barrels clumped together, the sails were more harm than good. It didn’t matter. It was water and boats, and you can’t go wrong with those when kids are involved.

My dad and mom left right before we went to sleep. Before they went, my father gave my mother her last birthday present: a necklace with 50 pearls on it. It looked lovely on her. She was glowing.

So: bed at 4, wake up at 8, worked more. Worked almost right up till party time. About half an hour till, I rush and get ready. Notice I’m looking thicker. And I’m having to run to the bathroom every five minutes. Wait– am I–? Yep. An entire week. Put that on the back burner for now.

The party started at 3. At 3:01, nobody’s here. They better come! we tell each other, half-kidding and half-paranoid. We slaved over this kindergartener’s party! Where are the guests to enjoy the fruits of our labor?

3:05, the neighborhood kids arrive. Michelle begins dressing them up in the front room (a job that is eventually passed on to Becky Jo). Guests get hand-stitched messenger bags full of treats along with the costumes. Right here, I have to say: I have the best friends and relatives in the world. I’m sorry. I took them. They’re mine. My friends drove up to FIVE HOURS to stay up into the wee morning and burn themselves with hot glue guns and prick themselves sewing and sleep on a blow-up mattress just so they could wake up the next day and run this party so I could relax. They did nearly everything. They ran the games so I could chat and take pictures. They corralled the children. They helped everyone get dressed, and assisted them with prizes and tickets (Jason made scratch-off dollars, which guests could turn in for gifts). I can’t tell you how much I owe them. I basically owe them all an entire week pampering them when they have their first child and doing all the midnight feedings. That is the only way life could be at all fair.

It takes about 45 minutes before the party gets into full swing, but it finally does, and this is going– well. This is going pretty smoothly. It’s actually the opposite of too many cooks ruining the soup: everyone is communicating well, and we’re able to let people know when things are slowing down and we need to move to the next activity. We play musical islands for awhile. One round happens at the beginning, the next near the end. It was twenty times better with more children. Basically, we (meaning my friends, specifically Val and Becky) painted a ton of chalk islands on the back porch with a little pink path going around them. The idea was that all the children were ships out to sea, and when the music stopped (actual Zelda score), the “ships” had to “dock” at the nearest island. One by one, pirates claimed the islands (we put pirate flags down to show which ones) until there was just one island left, and ALL the kids had to fit on it. Then they all got prizes. (Jason at first was totally against non-competitive games. I was like, “They’re five and under. The last thing we want to do is have the majority of them in tears that they lost.” and Jason was like, “Why play a game you can’t WIN? IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.”)

We break the pinata, which came out looking perfect. We were sure it was going to break just with the weight of the candy, but it held up. It made it through about half the kids swinging at it with a wood sword until it fell down, and then we let them whack it on the ground. Finally, Elias went ballistic on it, and Michelle ripped it open. Sweets for everyone! Hope you like cavities! Heh.

We did pizza (I ordered ten mediums instead of larges– oops), and then cake. My mom made this amazing Hero’s Shield. It was so good I ate half of it, and I don’t even like cake. We sang Happy Birthday, Elias blew out his candles, we cheered, and then, without warning, Eli literally dove headfirst into the cake. Like, open-mouthed. I didn’t even get it on film, I was just so stunned. It was probably the most random and hilarious moment the entire day.

Some people leave. Kids wear home their costumes. We bought about twenty of these foam swords that make clanging sound effects from the dollar store, and they were a tremendous hit. Everyone wants one. The rest of us watch Eli open presents, which goes incredibly well. We didn’t know if we were going to open gifts at the party or privately, because making other children watch and sit still while Elias got new toys seemed like it could go badly. But no. They were SO good. All the kids. They were polite, interested, happy.

Say final goodbyes. Party is OVER! All the girls sit in the living room and gossip. Was it a success? Yes, we decided. And thank God it was over. Heh. It felt like we’d just thrown a wedding reception. Fun one time, but not again. We talk about all the kids. We all love Hot Chris’ youngest daughter, who is brown-eyed and pig-tailed and all sweetness. “She could totally sell me peanut butter,” Becky Jo says. “Like, if she told me her mom used Jif, I’d buy a whole CASE.” Becky also talks about my brother, who left that morning pre-party. She hadn’t seen him since he was 10. It’s weird to her that he has facial hair and a man voice.

Play Rock Band and unwind. Audrey wants to check if our Victoria’s Secret has a bathing suit she wants. Okay. Jason (very kindly) agrees to to watch the kids while we Girls Night Out it. Go to the mall. Victoria’s Secret. I’m looking at myself in the mirrors. There is a baby in there. Has to be. (This is denial at it’s finest: it’s not the pound of cake. It’s a BABY.)

Auds tries on a suit. Cute, but not the right cut. Michelle tries on a suit. Cute, but not the right color. It’s a lime green one-piece with a gold zipper. We all crowd into the dressing room to whoop it up as she pretends to be in a rap video. That thing is so ghetto fab.

We’re all hungry. Call J, since it’s been like an hour and a half, and I said we’d be gone ten minutes. Jason says he already knew we’d be gone all night. Kids are asleep. Have fun. I love Jason.

I say I sort of want to spend a medium amount on dinner, and everyone else wants to do Cheesecake Factory. Okay, I agree. Why not. It’s a big night, and we are– literally– NEVER at the same place at once. This is a first in years. Get a table quickly, take turns going to the bathroom, do our orders. Audrey says she’s paying for me. “Oh, Audrey,” I tell her, “you don’t have to,” but Audrey is starting to cry. Don’t cry, Audrey! You seriously don’t have to pay!

She says it was her idea to come to an expensive place, and she doesn’t want to be selfish and make me spend more money, especially since I just paid for the party. “Aw, AUDREY!” I gasp. We all sighed and rub her thin hands and shoulders, and she starts laugh-crying: “Stop! Stop fawning! You’re making it worse!” Audrey is one of, like, two people I’ve ever met that looks even prettier when she cries. I know that’s a weird thing to say, but most people get puffy cheeks and red noses, and those watery eyes like they have hay fever. Audrey gets a slight blush to her cheeks and her eyes get huge and deep chocolate, like Bambi. Especially in that soft light at Cheesecake Factory, she looked stunning. “Stop looking at me!” she begged.

I CAN’T STOP LOOKING AUDREY. (I laughed out loud at that. Sort of lame, but true.)

We have one of the nicest dinners in the history of our friendship (at least from my perspective, and minus poor Val’s growing sickness: she was a trooper the whole meal). We eat and talk about husbands, about kids, about jobs. It’s just an extremely intimate conversation. We split a cheesecake afterward. We even talk about what’s proper bathroom etiquette: can you talk to someone when they’re in a stall? What if you came in together? Does it matter is they’re a friend or not? Becky had a co-worker who came in like two minutes after her, and then started up a conversation about business memos. We all think that’s not cool.

Drive home. Stay up until about midnight making tame sex jokes and giggling like middle schoolers. Why is sex still funny to us? I have two kids. The joke should be over already.

Everyone else leaves the next morning, Shelly stays a bit later, we go to Sonic and talk. We miss each other a lot. It seems like every time I see her I forget how much time passes, and I have all these new stories. Most of them aren’t very good, but there’s a LOT OF THEM. There’s a possibility she and Chris are moving down sooner than expected, so fingers crossed on that front. It would be awesome. (Awesome is an understatement.)

It’s almost 2 in the morning, and I’m actually getting a blister on my wrist where the skin is rubbing the keyboard. This is my first blog-related injury. I need to get worker’s comp up in here.