Two weeks ago I opened Zachary's backpack and found an envelope. To Zachary and Isaiah, the outside of it said. Inside of it was an invitation to a birthday party. Nothing unusual. I quickly scan the card and walk over to the family calendar in our kitchen.
January 22, 2011. 4 - 5:30 PM
I am normally on party duty for Team Manning. Not sure how this happened, but it is what it is. Problem is that I had a work commitment on January 22 until 5 PM. This meant party duty would be handed over to Harry. That conversation (which took place while we were both brushing our teeth) went something like this:
"You will need to take the kids to Dyl's party on Saturday. I'll be at work."
"Okay. Did you get a gift?"
"Where is the party?"
"At some kind of play center off of Roswell. It's on the invitation."
"Uhhh, okay. What time?"
"Just make sure the gift is somewhere where I can find it."
So. I go to work on January 22 early in the morning. And Harry, in his normal Harry way, plans a fun-filled day for the children culminating with the aforementioned party. When Harry takes the kids to parties (alone), it often becomes a bit of a production. He needs every single detail laid out the day before. Unlike me. Who just knows the day and roughly the time, and considers that enough.
Not my husband. He is one of those people that (exactly like my father), when he opens a box, lays down every single piece in a perfect row next to the instructions before putting one single thing together. Now that I think of it, they both completely cut up all of their pancakes and then put syrup on them. (I'm a cut as I go kind of girl.)
But I digress.
Back to the party.
My ex-military, Army Ranger, order-loving husband has everything set before we go to bed on January 21. Gift on the living room table. Directions next to the gift. Good to go.
3PM, I send a text:
"How are you coming along?"
"Good. Heading out now. Put it in navigation."
"Got the gift?"
At 4:20 PM, I peek at my phone to confirm that Harry had made it safely. Doh! Four missed calls. One text message:
"Call your husband."
Call my husband? Eek. Opt for wimpy text message instead:
"You okay? Still in the conference."
"Not okay. Party is not today. It is next week. RSVP was by 22nd."
(before I could reply with my pathetic apology)
"And this place was far as hell."
"Yikes. I'm sorry."
(No reply.) Double yikes.
So. After hearing my husband repeat to me approximately 700 trillion times how crappy it was to drive across town to some hard to find party spot, I assure him that I will be back on party duty the next week. No problem.
Yesterday, I came down with a terrible cold. I slept in this morning, and although I was sure he would if I asked him, I couldn't bring myself to ask Harry to pick up party duty for me. I sucked it up, and planned to take my lumps.
3:50 PM: Called Harry because I was lost.
3:55 PM: Still lost.
4:05 PM: Called Harry again. Still lost.
4:10 PM: Busting into play center huffing and puffing with two groggy children (who had fallen asleep in the car) in tow.
4:11 PM: Recognize exactly zero people in the entire (not very large) center.
4:12 PM: Kids crying. Isaiah wailing, "A-gaaaain??"
4:13 PM: Texting Harry from the parking lot:
"Party is on January 30. Today is January 29."
"I know. We suck."
"No. Not we, babe."
Please tell me that you guys make equally embarrassing mistakes. . . . . please tell me so I can be reminded of what a great mother I am. . . .