Don’t Let Smash Watch Your Kids

I’ve learned quite a few pieces of valuable information while trekking along this motherhood journey. Some of the more obvious: don’t forget to feed the child, don’t forget to bathe the child, don’t forget to enroll the child for school, and don’t forget to teach the child proper manners so said child doesn’t grow-up to be a complete asshole.

I think I’ve made it pretty far down the motherhood road without too many slips. Alright, I’ve made a couple faux pas. Most notable? Packing up the bottles, diapers, wipes, and all the other shit a baby needs only to pull out of the driveway without the kid. Not to worry, I realized I didn’t have her when I got to Target. Kidding, I realized I didn’t have her while backing out of the driveway…

 

I’m clearly not ‘Parent of the Year’ but this weekend definitely put me in the lead for ‘World’s Worst Parent’. I’m actively googling ‘awards for the shittiest parent’. Nothing yet, but Ill keep ya posted.

My young one, Haydan, had the grand idea of hosting her 7th birthday party at Chuck E Cheese. It was an immediate punch to my flabby gut as I cannot stand that fucking place. It smells like bleu cheese, is louder than most rock concerts I’ve attended, and the premise of their games leads me to think that they could very well be responsible for my love of gambling.

I must have attended one too many birthday parties in my day at Bullwinkle’s and Chuck E. Cheese. I blame them both each time I drive past a casino and my hands take over the steering wheel and before I know it, I’m yelling ‘HIT ME, MOTHER FUCKER!’ while seated at the blackjack table.

Anyhow, rambling…

We made reservations for the party and handed out the invitations at school. I received the RSVP’s and one of the potential party attendees parents had had to work the day of the party. She explained, seeing it was okay with my husband and I, she would have the grandmother drop her daughter off with us for the party and then have her husband pick her up at the end of the party when he got off work. This friend is near and dear to my daughter so, of course, I said yes.

It wasn’t as though I was going to be looking after a four-month-old baby, how hard could it be? I purposefully didn’t order any pitchers of beer for the table as that would eliminate any chances of something really bad happening at the cost of my ‘watchful eye’. Hey, I’ve managed to keep my kid alive for 7 years, I could easily handle looking after one more.

To make the situation even better, they had an emo-looking 16-year-old manning the door when you entered. Each parent/child duo received a invisible stamp on the wrist only decodable by some secret spaceship blue light. This made me feel a hell of a lot less anxious seeing that I knew none of the kids could run away/escape. That Chuck E Cheese mouse is pretty scary…

 

The kids came, they ate, they partied, they put themselves into Chuck E. Cheese comas and before we knew it, the party was over and we were packing the car up to head home.

All my husband and I could think of after the party was ingesting large amounts of 80 proof alcohol, so we unloaded the trunk like olympic relay racers in order to begin our Chuck E. Cheese recovery.

As we sat down, I felt something poking me in the backside of my jeans. I pulled out a ‘Kid Check’ ticket from a few hours earlier.

“HOLY SHIT! DID SARA’S MOM EVER PICK HER UP FROM THE PARTY?” I said to my much-needed-to-be-sedated husband.

“What are you talking about? “ He responded while cracking open a cold brewski.

“Sara’s grandmother dropped her off with us at the beginning of the party! Remember!? She said her dad was going to come back and pick her up! Did he ever come!? Please tell me you saw him pick her up?’” as I quickly started having heart palpitations.

“FUCK! No! I didn’t see anyone come and pick her up. Hurry, get back in the car, we have to go back!” 

We immediately starting loading the car back up. I told Justin he couldn’t bring his beer in the car as that wouldn’t look too great when we showed up looking for the kid we left at Chuck E. Cheese’s Casino.

“Wait, maybe we should phone her parents first…?” my husband so wisely suggested.

“And say fucking WHAT?! ‘Uhhhh. Do you have your kid? If not, no worries, she is probably still at Chuck E. Cheese. Not to worry, they have pretty stellar security. Did you not see that 16 year-old manning the front door? The one who clearly hates his life and could have very well been under the influence of…something…?’”

“Definitely don’t say that, you moron.” he responded to my pretty accurate description of words that would likely fall out of my mouth.

Before I knew it, I was dialing the mothers cell phone number. She answered and I spewed out ‘Hi, it’s Ashley, Haydan’s mom. Please tell me you have your kid????’

She was quite confused. Apparently, Chuck E. Cheese’s security team isn’t as ‘stellar’ as imagined. Her husband walked in, found his kid, and left with her. She laughed hysterically at me and handled it like a champ while most likely saying to herself: ‘I’ll never allow my child around this lunatic ever again’. 

So, there you have it. Don’t bring your kid to a party where I am the host, don’t anticipate Fort Knox-like security at Chuck E. Cheese, and make sure all children have departed the party BEFORE you hightail it out of Chuck E. Bleu Cheese’s Casino.

 

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