I had the funnest time last night.
Yeah, yeah. I know "funnest" isn't proper grammar. But I had some serious funnage last night. Like 6th grade type-o-fun. And "funnest" is a 6th grade word. So there.
I went roller-skating last night. At a roller rink. With disco balls. And enough Miley Cyrus music to make you sick.
Charlie and Henry approached me last week with a flyer in hand from school. Charlie said, "Mom, EVERYone goes to the school roller-skating parties. Can we go too?"
Roller-skating? My first thought was, "HELLS YEAH, bitches!" But then I realized that it's not appropriate to call my kids my bitches. Even if it is a term of endearment. Instead I said, "Sure! Sounds like fun!"
And boy, was it ever.
The brochure said, "Non-skating parents are always admitted free."
WHAT? Non-skating parents? That doesn't make sense. You mean there's actually parents out there who don't want to re-live junior high and strap on a pair of clunky four-wheeled skates and go around and around a wood floor for a few hours? Who are these people? Non-skating parents indeed. Psssh.
A few years ago some friends and I had discussed organizing a trip to the local roller rink just for us adults, but the idea never materialized past the discussion. So really, I've just been waiting for the chance to go roller-skating, and my kids are my cover. "It's all for the kids! They're totally dragging me to the rink. I guess I'll go because they twisted my arm."
Bill stayed home with George and Annabel and I took Charlie and Henry. It took Henry, with all his anxiety, about 45 minutes to work up the nerve to get out on the floor, but I let him do it in his own time. Meanwhile, Charlie heard a Jo Bros song pumping on the speakers and hit the floor immediately. He was quite cocky in the car on the way to the rink, talking a big game about renting the super-cool inline skates even though he's never attempted to roller-skate in his life. Needless to say, after going splat about 14 times in the first minute, he was content with the nerdier, but more stable four-wheeled skates.
There's nothing like strapping the sweat of a thousand teenagers onto your feet and hitting the floor. I only fell on my ass once too, which was quite impressive. As crude as it sounds, I say "ass" only because "butt" doesn't convey to you how hard I fell. "I fell on my butt," just sounds like I fell on my butt. But believe me, I fell on my ass. Hard. It was right out of a sitcom, minus the laugh track. I leaned back a little bit, my wheels betrayed me, and the next thing I know, I was splayed on the floor. Flat. My tailbone took the biggest hit.
It was awesome fun, and good times. The boys can't wait to go back, and it won't be too difficult to convince me.
But do you know what is not awesome? Flashing your boob at the mall. Unless you're cool with that. Which I'm not.
I know I'm all about over-sharing in this blog, a.k.a TMI. But I was mortified today and I had to share.
Because I'm a giver, that's why.
Anyway, Charlie and Henry have today and tomorrow off from school because of a teacher in-service. So we dropped George off at pre-school this afternoon and headed to the mall with Annabel. The boys need some new fall clothes, so it was fun to bring them with me to pick them out.
As we were getting ready to leave, Annabel was getting cranky. She's very headstrong and fights me lately about sitting in the stroller, so every time we go, I basically end up pushing an empty stroller throughout the mall, using it for a bag holder and yelling at her to stop running so far ahead of me.
This afternoon as we were walking through the main part of the mall, she was done. With a capital "D". I tried to get her to sit in the stroller but she just wasn't having it, and kept contorting her body and collapsing on the floor. So I told Charlie to push the stroller while I carried Annabel. I picked her up and walked for at least five minutes and Charlie kept nervously looking back at me. Finally he said, "Um, Mom? Um, your...thingy...is showing. You might want to pull that...thingy...up." I looked down and was mortified to see about 83% of my left boob out of my bra and in FULL VIEW. And at the point I noticed it, we were right by the kids' play area, where quite the assembly of parents was gathered.
It's not like I have a huge chest that has a hard time staying put. But since I'm already sharing TMI, and I'm assuming that the majority of my readers are female, you should know I have the smallest chest in the history of ever. But today I happened to wear my Victoria's Secret miracle bra or wonder bra or whatever it's called. In my size they should just call it, "The Who The Heck Does She Think She's Fooling With That Thing?" Bra. Regardless, it did the job it was supposed to do, and my cup spilleth-ed over a little bit.
When I picked Annabel up to carry her, she was tired and fighting to not be picked up, and she must have pulled my scoopneck sweater down and exposed me because this stupid faker bra of mine pushes what little I have on my chest so far up. But more mortifying than being exposed to a bunch of strangers was the fact that my 8-almost-9 year old boy was the one who had to bust me on it. He seemed just as embarrassed as me to see my "thingy" just hanging out.
Yeah, it took me a few minutes to recover from that one. I stammered, "Oh! Woops! Thanks Char!" and then changed the subject.
Henry was all, "What? What happened? What thingy? What's a thingy, Charlie?"
Everyone be quiet. Keep walking.
I guess you didn't need to hear that last story, but if you had a crappy day, just remind yourself that at least you didn't inadvertently flash your son and a mall full of people. At least you have that going for you. Don't you feel better already?
Like I said, I'm a giver.