March Mad-ness

Every year it's the same. Every year, it's only March Madness. I'm so very sick of it.

Let me back up a bit. When we were much more kids than adults, my dear husband and his boys started a tradition. A very bad tradition, in my opinion. They decided, being the avid sport's fans they were, to go out to the bar full time for the NCAA basketball tournament. They'd take a few days off work from their entry level jobs and party all day and night, like the kids they were. Fast forward to now when they are much more adults than kids and the tradition is still going strong. March Madness makes me a single mom.

Now, I'm the first to agree, husbands and wives need time apart. We need our space. We need our own hobbies and interests. We need friends other than each other. I really do agree with all this. But...March Madness and everything it brings makes my blood boil. Year after year, this tradition has become too big. I heard talk from one of the wives of a birth being missed if the baby should happen to come during March Madness. Last year a wife had to rearrange her annual girls weekend gateway because it was accidentally planned during the tournament. I will have two extra house guests until Saturday. Which means I will have three drunk boys coming home several nights in a row waking me and Alice up. Seriously friends, don't get the wrong impression, I like a good party just as much as the next guy. When this tradition was started, us girlfriends took part. We all had little responsibility and it was a great excuse to let loose. Fast forward ten years, we all have huge responsibilities and don't have the luxury to party like we used to. And yet, the boys still do. Maybe they do a few less shots than they use to, but they still demand the March Madness freedom from work and home.

Last year I was fortunate enough to get away for a night of it. My sister had Alice for a sleepover and I got out of town and stayed with a friend. This year I am not so fortunate. With Ellie's well being depending upon me, I can not leave. I'm forced to witness the men become boys. I think I should start planning now for next year. I'm going on a trip. Somewhere great, a spa retreat!

B.O.B.

We're all friends here. We're in the circle of trust, right? We can share anything.

I will be attending my first sex toy party.

I don't think I've talked much about all things sex before. I guess it's not something that comes up in normal conversation. My preference in lubrication doesn't mix well with Alice's most recent food aversion.

I suppose there's no better day than today to have the sex talk. I like sex. I'm not one of the women you hear about who avoids it like the plague, faking headaches left and right. I think I have an average sex drive. I think I am averagely adventurous in bed. I mean, I'm not a prude, but I also don't have the need for a bullet disguised as a pen. Have you seen this? A pen that doubles as a writing divice and a vibrator all in one...and it actually writes! I suppose some people can't risk being caught without a pleasure tool, you never know when the situation may present it's self. The boyscout of the sex world! I guess I'm not that adventurous. Don't get me wrong, I've had my share of public sex. I've just never felt the need to bring toys into a public quickie. Maybe I've been missing out.

See, the thing is, I have a confession. A sad, sad confession. Brace yourself...are you sitting down?

I don't own any sex toys.

gasp

I'm the only woman in her early thirties who's never owned a vibrator. I don't even know how it's gotten so out of hand. Like I said, I'm not a prude. I'm the first to admit I pleasure myself. And, I'm lazy. So what the what?! I'm the perfect candidate for a battery operated tool to give me a hand. Talk to your friends, your sister in-law, probably even your mom, they have all owned a rabbit or a magic wand or something equally as pleasing. I'm the only one. And instead of solving this problem, I just keep whining about it. I've whined since last summer. I said then, enough is enough I'm buying a vibrator! But I didn't. It's not that I'm embarrassed to walk in a sex shop, I'm too lazy. I'd have to take the time to find someone to watch Alice so I can walk the three blocks to the shop. I mean, I think they'd frown upon me bringing her with me. I attempted to buy one on Amazon, but I got sucked into reading review after review and before I knew it I was reading reviews of anti aging serums instead.

I've been doing it the old fashioned way for far too long. My time has come. The party's Sunday. Soon enough I will say, how in the hell have I lived without this beauty for so long?! Every woman needs a battery operated boyfriend.

Only Alice

Hand in hand, I lifted the latch and we entered the tot lot. All around were tricycles, plastic ride on cars, balls, plastic playhouses, and a small playground. I saw the tooth fairy, a bat, Snow White, Anakin Skywalker, a super hero, a baseball player, and numerous other children dressed in their favorite costume. They were all having fun, riding and running, laughing and shrieking. Orange, purple, and black balloons tied to the gazebo greeted us as we walked in. It looked and sounded like a fun birthday party.

Alice, dressed as the most adorable version of one of our favorite characters in Alice in Wonderland, clung to me for dear life. To her the party looked intimidating. Everyone already in play mode, after a long crying fit at home, we were walking in thirty minutes late. After several attempts to ease my daughter out of her shell, I stopped trying. I socialized with the other parents, periodically trying to pry itty bitty fingers from my own. Looking around, all the other children were behaving like "normal" children at a birthday party. Adults were standing around, children were playing together. Not Alice. She bounced from my leg to Hatta's leg, holding tight. Her friends from school called to her.

"Alice! Alice! Come play!"

I encouraged her to play. I reminded her we arrived late and the party would be over before she knew it. I walked with her to the playhouse where her friends were climbing and chatting together. She ignored them and hid further behind my leg. I talked to her friends, hoping she would see me having fun with them and join in. That plan was not successful. Finally as a last ditch effort, I took Alice aside.

"Alice. You know how I tell you that sometimes it's okay to be stubborn and sometimes it's not? How sometimes it gets in the way of you having fun? This is one of those times. You're being stubborn, refusing to play, just because. You know that if you just allow yourself to play you will have fun. These are your friends. You play with them everyday at school. So stop being stubborn and let's play or we are going to have to leave the party early."

I walked with her, holding her hand so she had no choice, to the playground. I made us walk up the steps to the top. And there I encouraged her to go down the slide, promising I would go down right behind her. And finally, just like that, she did it and all was right in the world again. She ran to the steps, climbed to the top, and happily slid down the slide again. She was playing. Upon her insistence, I took my turn down the slide and waited for her at the bottom.

I'm hoping this is what the rest of the party goers saw. My adorable child finally allowing herself to have a good time. You wanna know what I saw?! Naked four year old vagina.

OH! EM! EFFING! GEE! My daughter was dressed head to toe in sparkly tulle, sliding down the slide on her naked ass. I swear, only my child would be devasted because her black bow headband wasn't completely centered on her head but could care less that she was out on the town with her naked parts out there for the world to see. In her crying fit of rage at home, we had neglected underwear. You may remember how my daughter has a fondness for going commando. She wasn't wearing underwear when I helped her dress into her costume and I, just wanting to get out of the house, completely forgot.

Luckily I'm a prepared mom and I had a skort in my bag. I grabbed her hand and walked a bit out of the way of the party, all the while scolding Alice for going out in a dress without underwear. She's four. She has to be aware of these things. I can't possibly be in charge of everything! With the skort slipped discreetly under her costume, Alice was free to run and play.

I have to say, I am a teeny bit worried about Alice's naked vagina showing up in some unsuspecting mother's photo stream. There was this one mom that was blasting her iPhone like she was the paparazzi. Please say my daughter is not on the Lindsay Lohan track.

There Will Be Cake

A very important birthday is coming up in a few weeks. No, not mine...Alice's. She's turning 4.

What the what!? When did that happen? How is it even possible that she's almost 4 all ready?

Anyway. Any mother knows a birthday and a party go hand in hand. It's expected. People start asking about the impending party weeks, even months in advance.

Suffice it to say, I'm actively planning a birthday party. Except, I'm not. Let me elaborate, I'm having a party for Alice, but I'm not actively doing anything about it. It's refreshing!

The previous years, I have found the party planning to be exhausting, daunting really. I'd create lists and lists within lists, spreadsheets even. I was worried about having enough food, too much food, and foods to feed my picky eater. I'd lose sleep thinking about the entertainment planned for the party. Will the little kids be entertained and the big kids engaged at the same time? What about the adults? At a 2 year old's party, you tend to have a fair amount of adults. Then, there are the party favors. What do I give that kids will enjoy and isn't going to be broken or thrown in the trash the next day? You'd think I was planning Kendal Jenner's sweet 16 party, and frankly, that may have been less stressful.

Something happened this year. Something clicked. Maybe it's my attempt to be more carefree and easy going. Maybe I'm figuring this mom thing out, finally. I don't know. I do know I haven't made one list, not even a mental note in preparation for this party. I didn't send out invitations. I told a few people the date and time, and I finally got around to send out an evite yesterday. I'm not allowing this birthday party to stress me out. Kids will attend. They will have fun. There will be cake. And isn't that all that really matters anyway?

My Inner Merrymaker

I wanted to write something really thought provoking today, a real pot stirrer. Or maybe it would have been a hysterical take on some random aspect of raising my daughter.

But, sad to say, I just can't. Not today.

It would be wonderful if I had a killer explanation for you, but I don't. It's simple really.

I'm tired and hung over. Yup. A classic case of not enough water, a really good band, and too many beers. As a result, my brain is not thinking much. I do believe it's pissed off at me for the night I had.

I'm not in this predicament often. Taking care of the needs of Alice while I'm suffering from this unbearable affliction is lousy enough to keep me in check 98% of the time. However, every once in awhile something happens. Something inside me says, "Lighten up control freak. Enjoy yourself. Go ahead. You can do it. Just have one more drink. You'll be fine. Do it! Do it! Have fun!"

Last night, with Alice away at a sleepover with my sister, I succumbed to the peer pressure of my inner merrymaker and enjoyed myself with the help of two very good friends, Mister Dogfish Head and Sir Lagunitas. Thanks, guys, I had an awesome time last night. Your hospitality was exceptional. And the band, ALO, was phenomenal as well.