The Redbook Reference

This is the blog entry (from my days as Purty Mommy in 2005) that spurred my interview in Redbook.

Recently we were invited to the first ever Anthropology alumni party at one of my former (childless) professor’s houses—the professor we all feared in school. Even though I received my Master’s in 1999, I always feel like a bumbling student in her presence.

The invitation to the party clearly said, “Bring your spouse, children, friends, and a dish.” My spouse, also an alumni, and an excellent chef, really wanted to go. I hesitated to bring my rambunctious toddlers (ages 1 and 3), remembering from past parties that Ms. Professor had a lovely home filled with handmade furniture and fabulous Oaxacan folk art. “Do you want me to call my mom and see if she can watch the kids while we go to the party?” I asked Warren as he filled a black, fish-shaped platter with BBQ sushi. My three-year-old’s ears perked up as he smiled and said, “Party? I want to go to a party!”

When we arrived there were about ten people in attendance, and they were all over the age of 30. My one-year old spent about two minutes clinging to me until he discovered a very cool Sharper Image type light with illuminating hairs protruding from the kitchen island. “Please honey, no touching…” I pleaded in front of several nervous onlookers. “Oh it’s fine,” replied Ms. Professor. Hmmm…is she for real? I wondered. The boys wasted no time committing themselves to an in-depth study of the light. They stroked and yanked it, flipped the on/off switch on and off, etc. I took a deep breath and looked for the beer.

The hairy light eventually lost its appeal and they headed toward the stairs. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down. You get the point. It was actually the best place for them since there was nothing to break…um, except a bone maybe. I wanted to redirect them to the living room, but was wary of the alluring array of plastic cups filled with assorted liquids.

As soon as my husband placed his beer on the table, my one-year-old leapt from the staircase and started a full run towards the coffee table. Warren let him suck on the bottle (which attracted more than a few stares) while I tried to interest him in his sippy cup (that I naively filled with organic milk at the house), but he catapulted it across the room in disgust. Meanwhile my three-year-old was busy climbing on the exercise bike that was doing its best to hide behind the sofa.

In the split second it took me to look Satchel’s way, Jiro grabbed a cup of orange soda off the coffee table and poured it down his face, shirt, shorts, legs, shoes, and onto the floor. Ms. Professor was nowhere in sight and several people grabbed napkins to assist with a quick clean up. I took off Jiro’s shirt, exposed his most excellent belly to everyone’s delight, and made a quick run to the car for an extra shirt. Little Buddha caused everyone to instantly forget the orange soda incident. I actually received numerous compliments on being such a competent and prepared parent. Just by having an extra shirt!

I started to relax a bit. By this time there were several other kids running around. Oddly enough they were all girls. Two of them were dressed in their Sunday best and acted like perfect little ladies. A cute five-year-old sat at her parents' feet eating broccoli, celery, carrots, assorted fruit, and BBQ sushi. The only other toddler made her way around the room informing guests that she had taken her shoes off all by herself.

As I was chatting with some old classmates in the kitchen, I noticed an assortment of really cool animal figurines on the drink table. I picked one up, a lizard with jeweled eyes and a wiry body, and went over to my two children who were again happily playing with the hairy light, and pretended like the lizard was going to bite them. Satchel immediately lit up, and like a normal three-year-old, attempted to grab the lizard out of my hands. At that point the magnitude of my error dawned on me. They were rapt by a host approved “toy” and I interrupted them to garner interest in the Oaxacan folk art that was busy playing dead.

My professor’s husband was only a few feet away, pretending to be Mr. Carefree, but I knew better. “Uh, honey, um, don’t touch the lizard, it’s just for looking,” I said ineffectually as I put the figurine behind the Sprite. Before I could even let go, Satchel was right at my heels, reaching for another figure—a brightly painted wooden dragon. I was starting to sweat. “Honey, those aren’t toys. Don’t touch them,” I said firmly, feeling like a complete asshole.

I turned away for a split second, instinctively, to check on Jiro, when I heard a crash. I saw detached wings, a foot, a tail, and several Anthropology alumni silently heading for another room. I threw myself on the floor and prayed that the pieces would somehow snap back on, but when I saw shards of wood, I knew there was no hope. I gathered the pieces, told my husband to take the boys into the living room, and went in search of the professor’s two favorite students (who had suggested she throw the party in the first place).

Paige was talking to a nearby group about filling out a survey. “Paige, I need you now,” I said from across the room as I clutched the pieces of the dragon behind my back. She came over, took one look at what I had in my hands and freaked out. (Not the reaction I was hoping for.) “Oh my god, we have to tell Mr. Carefree, because if Ms. Professor finds out from him, she’ll take it better,” she blurted out as she shooed me into the pantry.

“No, we have to hide the evidence and pretend like it never happened!” I said.

“Let me find a bag. And Jamie. Stay here,” Paige instructed as she ran out of the pantry. Meanwhile I prayed my husband was keeping the boys out of trouble.

Paige came back with a garbage bag. “It’s clear!” I cried.

“It’s all we’ve got,” she said. “I’ll hide it in the back, and then we’ll tell Ms. Professor later.”

I liked this plan. “Will you tell her who did it?” I asked.

“We’ll just say it got broken,” she said.

“Good plan,” I agreed, relieved.

Just then Jamie came in. “I’ll glue it back together. She’ll never know.”

“Ooh, I like that plan too,” I said, somewhat high. My adrenaline was pumping.

Jamie, the best hostess ever, said, “This isn’t a kid-friendly house and she should have put that stuff away if she was going to have kids over.” I listened and nodded enthusiastically.

“I mean, those figurines look like toys! And that antique bike she has in the front room is the next thing that’s going to break!” Jamie continued.

I was laughing at this point, buoyed up by my co-conspirators. We left the pantry feeling as though everything was completely under control. I went in search of my husband and the boys. I found them in the living room. Playing on the antique bike. "Who wants cake?" I asked. They looked at me, looked at the bike, and then looked for cake. "Come on," I said. "This way..."

I plopped them on the floor next to all of the sweet little girls and let them eat cake. As they happily shoveled it in their mouths, I watched as the crumbs started to pile up on the fancy carpet. Jiro unknowingly rubbed some icing in with his butt as he scooted closer to his plate. I realized that nothing was safe in this house. I was exhausted from the never-ending damage control and told Warren we needed to make an exit soon.

I found Paige again and told her we were leaving. "You're not going to tell Ms. Professor until after the party's over, right?" I asked, fearing a scene after our departure. (I pictured us frantically trying to buckle the kids in their carseats before peeling out of the driveway as Ms. Professor ran out of the front door to lecture us.)

"That's the plan," she said.

"Okay, I'll call her tomorrow and apologize,” I said. Or send an email…

Jamie came over just then and said, "Don't worry. I told Mr. Carefree..."

"You did what?" I asked exasperated.

"He's totally fine with it," she continued. "It isn't a problem at all."

"Really?" I asked.

"Really."

"Did you tell him who did it?" I asked, wondering if I had managed to fool him with my *cough* stern lecture.

She kind of smirked, but in a nice way, "He knew who did it right away...But really, it's okay."

"Okay," I said, relieved, but not convinced.

I got Warren and we wrangled the boys up to leave. Jiro immediately went berserk. He clearly was not done playing with the hairy light even though we'd been there two hours. I so didn't want to blow my cover when we were in the home stretch. I scanned the kitchen and spotted some tortilla chips. I thrust one in his little paw and he stopped screeching right away.

"Here, let me give you a plastic bag so you can take a bunch home," Ms. Professor said as she awkwardly grabbed Jiro's chubby little cheek and made some cooing noises. I smiled, said our thank yous, and left happy that I wasn't getting graded anymore.

When I called Ms. Professor a few days later to apologize, she couldn’t have been more gracious. “I wouldn’t have left those things out if I was worried about them breaking,” she said. And I believed her. “Please come again soon. I really miss seeing you,” she said. That’s when I realized that I am the one with the red pen, circling all of my mistakes, not her.