Everybody's Working for the Weekend

I am my prettiest self for sure when Hil sneaks up on me and taps me on the shoulder as I am slumped over my desk sobbing. I am sure the fact that I am an allergy sufferer and have had a glass of chardonnay do nothing to improve matters.


Not 5 steps behind Hil is Patrick looking worried. I have completely mismanaged this situation. Lost my cool, came unhinged, put my panic before their excitement about Disney. Disney for Chrissake. Cinderella would bitchslap me if she could. She knows a rotten mother when she sees one.

Hil puts her hand on my shoulder and says, "Mom, I'm sad because you are sad." Pat is on my other side now. "Me too," he says.

Well, haven't I just created tha happiest birthday celebration ever? Way to ice the cake and light the candles, Mom! What's next? A house fire? Bankruptcy? A fatal illness?

I smile through the snots and tears and try to pull it together.

I run through the kid friendly bullet points of the situation.

Dad sent me an email about the dates. I didn't see it.
I planned a fun trip to see the Orioles in Baltimore for us and Scott but it is while they are still away with Dad.
I am not upset about the money (read that, small fortune) I've spent.
I am most upset that I had planned something really special for Pat, and now I don't have a Big Surprise for his birthday. (Adding reassurance that I have gifts, just not the big ticket gift that pulls it all together, not to panic)

Pat is the first to speak.

"Mom, I am sure I will love the gifts you have for me. And whatever we do, I'll love, because I love spending time with you."

Umm hello, who replaced my whiney almost-teenager with this mature, selfless young man?

Hil, bless her heart, offers to fix my face and hair so I am restored to beauty so that I can call Scott and he can be his sweet adorable self for me. Girlfriend knows my heart.

Pat seems really pleased that I had planned something this big in the first place. I tell him we'll work out something so he remembers how special turning 13 really is. I just have to figure out what that is. It may take a few days longer than his birthday this coming weekend. Just to be clear.

We all go off to bed. The kids reluctantly, me like a zombie. I am exhausted. I call Scott, but he is not entirely clear why this is such a big deal. I am too tired to explain.

The next day, I hit the snooze 11 times before dragging myself out of bed to view the bags under my eyes that could be easily tucked into my waistband. Pretty. I am sluggish and miserable and thinking I need to take the entire pot of coffee in a collection of lidded to-go mugs when I hear the kids whispering.

Pat suggests that they tell Lars that they want to come back from Disney on Friday not Sunday. Hil says, "We can't. Remember? Dad is taking classes on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday."

Classes? The trip to Disney is one of THOSE trips?