1. Three months ago, I said yes to cohosting a bike party/fundraiser for Henry's preschool. I love saying yes. I love that moment where everyone loves me and I feel like a good and charitable person for something I don't have to think about for another 12 weeks.
I hate throwing parties. I hate the tiny details like number of forks and how many jingle bells for the kids' craft table. I hate the unpredictability of using a public park (Will there be anyone else there having a party? Will that bearded guy be bathing in the drinking fountain? Will there be vomit in the sand?).
But I went for the immediate glory, and now I'm left with throwing a party that has netted only about $30 after the money I've spent on food and supplies. The worst part is that I'm throwing another party next Saturday for Henry's birthday. I get so caught up in the "yes" moment that I fail to consider things like my son's birthday.
2. We're having Henry's party at Children's Fairyland. And hiring a pirate. And there will be 20 kids there.
How did this happen? I used to scoff--I still scoff--at stories of over-the-top preschool birthday parties. A pony? Ha ha. Hired a bartender? Hilarious! Now I'm throwing a circus for a 4th birthday party.
3. I am going bald.
About three weeks ago I was diagnosed with androgenic alopecia. Female pattern baldness. It's hereditary, except no one in my family, male or female, for at least three generations, has ever lost their hair.
I don't know what else to say about this except that I spent the first week wanting to die. I am doing much better now, but at 4 in the morning I often lie awake wondering how long I have before I have to live out my life in a wig.
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