Saturday we drove up to Fort Worth for a surprise 90th birthday party for Angry Baby’s Great Gramps, we decided to drive back immediately after. I don’t know what’s more insane, throwing a SURPRISE PARTY for a 90-year-old, or driving 12 hours in the car with Angry Baby.
We got on the road at 8:25 am a little behind, but well worth the 20 minute wait at the Starbucks (Pumpkin Spice Latte = The perfect road breakfast!) Angry Baby was happily cooing and babbling to her Uncle G$, who was sitting in the 2nd seat with her, ready to tend to her every whim, and entertain her in case of emergency.
The entire ride up was filled with good conversation and without incident, we only needed one 10 minute stop. It was overcast and drizzling outside, but we avoided any heavy rain.
The last 20 minutes of the 5.5 hour car ride up there consisted of Uncle G$ feeding her “Baby Magic Pellets,” one by one. Why? To stave off the screaming.
Lover fo Life muttered… “Just wait until she realizes we’re going back home today, she’s going to flip.” My stomach lurched. I hoped he wasn’t foreshadowing our future fate.
After a delicious lunch of chicken tenders and sweet tea, I made my way to the bathroom of the Chicken Express and got ready for the party. Because I’m a momgyver and glamazon simultaneously, it only took me 4 minutes from start to finish…completed hair and make-up, I RULE!
I emerged from the public restroom looking glorious, scooped up AB, and took her to the truck for a routine clean and change. Suddenly, it was time to put on the party dress. Angry Baby was infuriated by the process, she got wise and decided start to throwing it. Just like that: all my public bathroom beautiful hair and makeup accomplishments were washed away with my sweat beads. 5 Minutes later, Angry Baby was dressed, SHOED, and armed with a determination to crush my soul.
We piled in the car, bid farewell to the golden-fried palace of poultry and made our way to the par-tay. The overcast sky had now become an ominous black, rain began to fall. Once we arrived at the surprise shin-dig Angry Baby decided to let me know just how unhappy she was with me for dressing her and changing her in the family vehicle parked outside of a cheap chicken shack…she started screaming.
Luckily, we arrived at the party early and met up with family who was setting up. Angry Baby immediately stopped crying when she saw all of her loyal loving subjects awaiting her arrival.
She instantly latched to her baby cousins, a little guy almost 2 and the other big boy is almost 3. She walked around and started trying to get into the fragile decorations on various shelves. I swooped her up, she started screaming like I was a carnival ride operator trying to abduct her. She leapt for Lover fo’ Life, and even buried her face in his neck when I tried to comfort her.
And then, like a miracle, Angry Baby’s 5 foot tall, pint-sized auntie, came in and greeted her. Her tiny little face lighted up, even Daddy was now chopped liver, she dove for her tiny Auntie.
Angry Baby can sense the rage in others and instantly noticed her Auntie, was an old fit-thrower from way back…they were glued to each other for most of the party. As I worried why my child was being colder to me than a popsicle’s prostate, Auntie Kris came over and introduced me to the most exquisite delight I ate at the party…or perhaps ever in my life: PICKLE POPCORN.
As Angry Baby and Angry Lady danced to the live band that played Grandad’s favorite songs, I ate my feelings with PICKLE POPCORN.
Real Talk: ALL Pickle lovers need to get their hands on this stuff, here’s the place that sells it. Trust me when I say this: YOU WILL NEVER WANT TO EAT ANOTHER GOURMET SPECIALTY POPCORN FLAVOR. It’s to diet for! (crowd groans) But I’m getting off topic…
As I schmoozed and scarfed, Angry Baby played, sang and smiled, at everyone but me. Later on, Angry Lady insisted I was being paranoid and attempted to show me by handing Angry Baby back at me…my daughter threw a fit and squirmed every way she could to get away from me. The little jerk.
Oh yeah, and another thing…fill a party with people, most of whom are over 70 and are continually cold, means air conditioning ceases to exist. The heat combined with the humidity of the ongoing rainstorm caused my alter ego, Seniorita Sweatstache, to make an appearance. I was sweating like a Kim Kardashian in church.
At first I daintily dabbed paper towel across my overactive sweat glands, but as the party raged on, my perfect porcelain skin gave way to
streams rivers of sweat. I calmly kept talking and working the crowd. A random woman came up to Lover fo’ Life and started asking all sorts of odd questions about his late father’s death. Just as I was changing the topic, she began to stare at my sweaty brow. She kept jawing on about Angry Baby’s deceased Gramps only she was talking to my glistening forehead. I excused myself to the bathroom.
I foolishly thought I was able to dab and compose my tidal wave of perspiration, so I made my way back up to the action, I was getting a drink when I ran into G$, who in true brother fashion said: “WHOA YOU ARE SWEATIN!”
“Thanks for the hint Heloise.” I hissed
About 30 minutes later, Angry Baby flipped the snit switch and began to Hulk-out. Our time at the party had to be cut short, the kid was gonna blow. We scooped up our stuff, bid everyone farewell, and told Auntie Kris I would forever remember the great time I had eating that delicious Dill Pickle popcorn she introduced to me.
We headed out on the road in rain. It rained/ drizzled on us the entire 5.5 hour ride home. Angry Baby, first relieved to be stripped of her party dress, settled in for another voyage in her car seat. I crossed my fingers and held my breath, I prayed to the Pickle Popcorn Purveyors that Angry Baby’s good humor would last the long car ride home.
5 minutes later, she realized she was going to be cooped up with our ugly mugs for the next 5+ hours…and went nuclear for the next 45 minutes, finally passing out for a little over 2 hours.
When she awoke, we stopped to stretch our legs and hydrate. Once we got back on the road in the pouring rain, under the dark of night, she decided to quit us. Angry Baby screamed intermittently for the last hour on the road.
By the time we pulled into our driveway, Angry Baby was ready to party all over again, it was “only” 9pm, we were in the car for a combined almost 12 hours and my lil’ Atomic Fireball decided to play, laugh, and run amok until she dropped from exhaustion, which finally happened at 11:00pm.
After she was soundly asleep in her crib, L4L and I looked at each other and said: “Clearly, we’re insane.”
Happy 90th Birthday Pops! Glad you survived to see your youngest great-grandchild make a total jerk of herself and shun her mother, just for YOUR BIG DAY. Oh well, at least we’ll always have that Dill Pickle Popcorn.