11.11.11 was a rough one. You would think it would be rough for Tom, since it was his 35th birthday, but that was not the case.
To
say planning his party was a breeze would be a lie. It all started several months ago when Tom
returned from a family wake that was held at a funeral home next to his old
favorite watering hole on the Northwest Side of Chicago. He did what all fine Irishmen do at a wake,
he had some beers with his friends and family.
He returned home and said he wanted to have his birthday there. I wasn’t able to keep a straight face and
when it comes to Tom, I cannot tell a lie.
I had to break down and tell him that I was going to capitalize on his
birthday falling on 11.11.11 and throw a surprise party for him either at said
watering hole or his parents’ house.
After his request, I knew exactly where it needed to be, it just
wouldn’t be a surprise anymore. One of
his aunt’s shares a the same birthday, so I coordinated with Tom’s cousins and
we decided to throw a combined celebration.
His
favorite bar holds great significance, not only to Tom and his drinking
buddies, but also to his family and oddly, he and I as well. Mugshots is located just blocks away from
where his mom grew up. His aunt works
there and his uncle’s Harley Davidson can usually be found parked out in
front. His cousin used to bartend there,
one of his friend’s met his wife there while she was a bartender. Ten years ago
at his aunt’s 50th and his 25th party, Tom told me he
wanted to be “more than friends” and even when to far as to tell me he was
going to “make me his wife.” Keep in
mind, I had arrived to his party at midnight after babysitting my nephew who at
the time lived in the house we live in now.
Did you follow all that?
So,
for my readers that aren’t local and don’t understand the geography of Chicago,
let me give you a brief description of where my husband’s family is from. This is the Northwest Side of Chicago. It is very different from some of the other
Chicago neighborhoods most people think of and in my opinion is a “real”
Chicago neighborhood. I have to give
props to similar South Side neighborhoods, since that is where my family hails
from. However, I’ll probably offend a
lot of people, but it is not Wrigleyville, Lakeview or Lincoln Park filled with
drunken twenty-something’s and trendy restaurants and bars. It isn’t Bucktown or Wicker Park with young
hipsters with funky glasses, sushi restaurants and retro record shops. No, this
is old school Chicago. This is where a
typical block is lined with a hole-in-the-wall-bar, a Polish Delicatessen,
another hole-in-the-wall-bar, a funeral home, a shoe repair, another
hole-in-the-wall-bar, an Italian sandwich shop, a church, a school, a park, another
funeral home, a banquet hall and in-between,
you’ll find 2-flats with Virgin Mary statues on the front lawn. Running
parallel are streets lined with bungalows. This is where the city workers,
police officers, fire fighters live. This
is where Tom loves to be.
My
party planning was jinxed from the get-go.
We wanted to have the party on 11.11.11, but it landed on a Friday and
we figured we could suck it up and do Saturday in order to make it more
convenient for our guests. As luck would
have it, Mugshots’ back room was already booked for that day. As luck would NOT have it, I had already sent
the Evite. I never in a million years
thought Mugshots would be a hot-bed of entertainment and party planning and
would have been booked on the exact day we wanted it. I put my tail between my legs and resent a revised
invite with the new date.
I
wasn’t real concerned with the planning details because I knew that at the end
of the day, Tom just wanted to be surrounded by his friends and family,
drinking beer, doing shots of Jameson and maybe having some pizza, chips and
salsa. Luckily his cousin works for a
restaurant where we ordered food more suitable than just nosh for drunken bar
goers.
My
biggest concern was more in what we were going to do with the kids the night of
the party. Since we live about an hour
from where the party was, I figured it would be best if my mom watched the kids
and we all stayed there since she lives 20 minutes from the bar. Unfortunately, I had to uninvited my mom to
the party when I informed her she would be watching the kids and we were going
to all crash there.
OK,
sitter secured. Now on to
logistics. Tom took his birthday off so
that gave us a little more room to work with.
After going through a few different scenarios we decided that I would
pick up the balloons and cake and then head to the bar to set up while Tom, the
kids and his parents would meet me at Tom’s grandma’s house and then when I was
done decorating, I would get the kids and take them to my mom’s. Unfortunately, my mom didn’t get off work until
7:00, so I would have to be a little late to the party. Originally, I had planned on just driving
back to the party, but after all the planning and schlepping, I wanted to be
able to partake in the festivities without worrying about driving. My friend suggested I just take a cab from my
mom’s back to the party and then Tom and I would take one back to my
mom’s. It seemed worth the cost in order
spend a night out, sans kids, no hour drive, to enjoy the fruits of my
labor. Besides, it might be fun to relive
our “glory days.”
Of
course, after running to get the cake, balloons and to Meijer because I
realized I forgot to pack Pull-ups for Colin I finally got on the road to the
city. I was cruising until I hit O’Hare
Airport and proceeded to sit in traffic for the next hour. I finally got to the bar to set up and from
there had enough time to go get the kids.
Tom and his parents hit a ton of traffic and never made it to his
grandma’s house, so I met them at a McDonald’s near the bar where they stopped to
feed the kids real quick. (A small detail I forgot to account for.) Of course, there was a major traffic jam on
Irving Park Road and I was at a stand-still for another half-hour because I
thought they were having a Veteran’s Day parade in the middle of rush hour on a
Friday night. I was cursing and swearing
when I realized that it was actually a funeral procession from O’Hare Airport
for a fallen solider. Boy, did I feel
like a jerk. As I watched the procession of Police cars, family members with
American flags flying, Patriot Guard motorcycle group and various other
vehicles with Marine Corps flags, I said a prayer, apologized to God for being
a heartless bitch and within 5 minutes, traffic started moving again.
I
walked into the McDonald’s and Tom immediately asked if I had a Pullup. Colin hadn’t been changed since lunchtime
since he fell asleep in the car on the way home from lunch and we put him
straight down for his nap. Tom forgot to
change him when he woke up and he had 6 hours of 2-year old boy pee in his
Pullup that soaked through to his pants.
That may seem like a strange description, but if you have ever had a
two-year old boy who still wears diapers, you know what I mean.
Luckily
I had a change of clothes with me for our slumber party at my mom’s and was
able to change him in the bathroom. I
had been in desperate need of a diet Coke for the last 5 hours and Tom handed
me one as I walked out the door to load the kids into the minivan and head to
my mom’s. As I was driving, I decided to
call the cab company to make sure there would be one there at 7:45 to take me
back to the party. I pulled up at my
mom’s at 7:25 and unloaded the kids, the Aerobed, two backpacks, a suitcase,
blankets and sheets. The kids had their
bubbas and then we just had to actually get inside my mom’s condo
building. After two large doors, one of
which required that I actually locate my mom’s keys on my keyring, and an
elevator to the 5th floor, we had arrived. Of course, the kids got off the elevator and
as I was literally throwing our belongings out of the elevator, the door closed
on me and the kids both started screaming and crying because they thought I was
going to fall down the elevator shaft leaving them orphans on the 5th
floor of my mom’s condo building.
I
opened the door to find them with crocodile tears rolling down their red
cheeks. Poor babies. I got them down the hall along with our
belongings and was greeted by my mom.
Perfect timing. (sarcasm) I
started to get the kids settled, rattled off necessary information, blew up the
Aerobed and threw some makeup on my face.
At that point I was already having a full-blown panic attack. Meanwhile,
my mom had to run down to put her parking pass in my van since it would be
parked in the parking lot over night.
She informed my cab driver that I would be right down. As soon as she came back up, I kissed the
kids goodbye and ran out the door. I got
down to the cab and told him I just had to run to my van and get my “big girl
purse” as opposed to my diaper bag/purse.
He started reprimanding me for coming down 7:55 when I had told dispatch
I needed a cab for 7:45. He told me the meter was running. I closed the door
(ok, maybe slammed it a bit) to go get my purse and….are you ready for
this? He. Drove. AWAY! Guess he wouldn’t get paid for those 10
minutes. Dummy.
Of
course, I felt more the fool standing in the middle of the parking lot with my
mouth wide open in shock and awe and the feeling I would NEVER get to the
party. I grabbed my purse out of the car
and called Tom. At that point, the last
couple of days of running around, planning, schlepping, coordinating, working,
yelling at my kids, worrying, and one completely a-hole of a cab driver came
down on me and I felt as if I was unhinged.
I started crying to Tom who likely already had 4 Miller Lite’s in him
and he could barely understand what I was saying because I sounded like Jesse
Spanno, “I’m so excited, I ‘m so excited….I’m so TIRED!” Unfortunately, I
hadn’t gotten to take a long over-due nap and hadn’t had some good drugs. I guess the good news was I didn’t have a
test to study for or a dance to perform with Lisa and Kelly. Most importantly, I wasn’t wearing a leotard
and a sweatshirt with one shoulder down and a giant black bow; that would really
have been embarrassing.
I
finally regained my composure and told Tom to just go enjoy himself while I
figured out what my next steps were. I
called the cab company back and told the dispatcher what happened. She sounded puzzled as to why I was so upset
and asked if I wanted the same driver to come back. I told her if they did, I would call the
cops. “Well, he left because you were
ten minutes late, m’am.” Really? I know I am out of the loop when it comes to
cab etiquette, but the meter was running.
I told her I didn’t want her stinkin’ cab and that their customer
service sucked and called a different cab company. I am pretty sure that the cab company was a
small subsidiary of U.S. Airways.
I
got a hold of a different cab company and had just enough time to run back up
to my mom’s place to reapply my make up that I had cried off. My mom talked me off my emotional ledge
(something she probably hasn’t had to do in about 15 years) and I was off. I finally arrived at the party at about
8:45.
I
walked in and had several people offer me a drink, which I know I could have
used, but didn’t really want. That was
when I realized I hadn’t eaten dinner. I
finally went back to eat so I wouldn’t end up becoming “that girl” who gets
sloppy drunk because she at a vanilla wafer before she went out. I finally sat
down with a beer and caught up with some friends. At about 11:00 p.m. a group of people in
their 20’s came in and it was clear that they had just begun their evening when
all I wanted was my bed. They were what
we used to be. The girls were all dolled
up and kept feeding the jukebox and dancing in a circle as if they were in
their own little world without a care in the world. That was what going out used to be like
before it required a flow chart and being a certified party planner. Sigh.
Those were the days.
I
spent the rest of the night hosting, cleaning up and babysitting Tom. Of course, when all was said in done, I
barely drank anything and could have just driven. Luckily Tom drank enough for both of us and
his aunt and uncle drove us back to my mom’s.
Tom kept babbling about how 10 years ago he professed in undying love to
me and that was when everything changed and our life began. Yeah, we aren’t hanging out at bars or
dancing with our drinks held in the air, singing Karoake when our poor reaction
time made following the words next to impossible. Yet, when we got home, the kids were asleep
on the Aerobed cuddled up together. They
even woke up to greet us with sleepy smiles and snuggles. Cheers to that.
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