On Sunday, after my children had spent all Saturday at the zoo with their grandparents wearing costumes and dancing and Halloweening and decidedly not napping, and then Sunday afternoon also not napping but most definitely whining, we had Sebastian’s soccer party.
|The soccer star. His team was Argentina. The |
photographers did a pretty crappy job, but
you can still see how grown up and adorable
(Oh, did I not tell you Sebastian played soccer? I’m not sure how that happened as I am a bit of an oversharer. We had a couple of rough starts to practice wherein my son, who will scrape his face on the concrete and barely acknowledge it except to talk macabrely about the blood, got knocked down and refused to play anymore which was totally not expected and so we were at a loss as to how to proceed. Mostly I employed worrying. And stressing. And then none of it mattered because he was fine and had a blast although didn’t take it a seriously as some of the other kids and parents and he learned lots of new bad words and wrestling moves. Because whenever they weren’t kicking the soccer ball the entire team was in a pile on the ground wrestling and talking smack. And I met some moms that I wished would become my New! Best! Friends! but who I was too afraid to ask out on a mom date. The end.)
The party was the end of the season get-together where the coaches handed out trophies and awards to the kids. It was held at Mr. Gattis, which we all know is the worst place in the history of ever and I wish it would just fall into the ground so I wouldn’t have to experience it’s loud, crowded, broken game area anymore, if nothing else to avoid seeing the half-naked video game girls on the games that are meant FOR CHILDREN YOU ASSHOLES.
But being the amazing mother I am, I decided that I would take Sebastian anyway. But really it was because I didn’t want to stay home with Miss No Nap for Two Days. There were other smaller, toddler-esque children at Sebastian’s party, but none of them threw their plates on the floor or spit food at whoever was sitting across from them or flailed about limply in disgust whenever they were told to calm down, so I don’t think Adele would have fit in very well. We decided to save ourselves the embarrassment and tears and not poke the bear. She stayed home with Chris.
So as Sebastian and I were walking into Mr. Gattis the wind blew a can right near our feet. Sebastian, being the responsible citizen he is, picked it up.
Somebody dropped this! They shouldn’t have done that! They should have thrown it away! That’s not nice.
I agreed with him, that it wasn’t very polite to throw random cans on the ground. And then I got a closer look as he handed it to me.
Bud Light. And it still had some in it.
I wanted so bad to just throw it back on the ground, but Sebastian was proud of himself for knowing that it’s kind of rude to throw trash on the ground and he was watching me and I didn’t want to confuse him and there are lessons we have to teach our children, such as DON’T THROW BEER CANS IN THE PARKING LOT OF A PIZZA PLACE BECAUSE A 4 YEAR OLD MIGHT PICK IT UP AND HAND IT TO THEIR MOTHER, THUS MAKING HER DIE OF EMBARRASSMENT.
But of course, that wasn’t where it ended. At first I thought there would be a garbage can outside the building because there always seems to be one outside of buildings.
So I brought it into the restaurant. And I endured all of the looks from strangers that bored into my skull and emitted disapproving telepathic signals straight into my person. And I knew what they were thinking.
I wanted to shout “It’s not mine! I SWEAR! But I figured that the more I protested, the worse it would be for everyone. You know, all those people waiting in line ahead of me because of course I couldn’t just calmly walk up to the front and find a garbage. Nope. I waited there with Sebastian drawing attention to himself as he usually does because he was excited about his party and doesn’t pass by a stranger without introducing himself. And there I was, holding a half-full beer can in line at Mr. Gattis while my son discussed his championship party with nearby patrons.
I finally saw someone I could ask to throw away the beer can for me, while making sure that I told her that my son picked it up in the parking lot, possibly trying to imply that maybe they should have been better about cleaning that shit up so a mother of a 4 year old model citizen wouldn’t have to melt into a puddle of mortification when her son makes her carry it around until she finds a garbage can.
Also, put garbage cans outside. We could have avoided all of this if they would have just put a damn garbage can outside.
She didn’t believe me. I could tell by her raised eyebrow.