Oh, She’s Not Late, She’s Just Black

When I’m not a happy camper, the look of annoyance is written all over my face. So said, so done at a kid’s birthday party a few weeks ago. Now, I’ve attended my fair share of events with a start time on the invitation that makes me give the poor piece of paper the side eye, because I know damn well the festivities won’t begin on time. But the tardiness of this one was enough to piss me right off and re-think my “blackness.”woman-clock-ticking

After an intense and stressful work week, I had put off a ton of errands to the weekend. The laundry list included, well…laundry, groceries, an oil change, a mandatory trip to the beauty supply store for some hair products, buying the kid a birthday gift, and summer clothes shopping for my daughters. I hit the road early and tried to knock most of the items off my to-do list before the 2pm birthday party. My self-diagnosed OCD began to show itself, as I checked my watch over and over and over again, anxious to get there on time.

2pm, my behind. The little ones and I arrived just before 3, and I felt terrible. We greeted family and friends, and I looked around for the girl of the hour to give her a birthday hug and kiss. The 3-year-old was nowhere to be found. One hour in, and she hadn’t arrived at her own birthday party. I mean, I’m all about making an entrance, but damn! 3:10…3:30…4:00…ok, this is nuts. No party mama, no birthday kid – only a room full of guests who hardly knew each other. Yet, I left a pile of unfinished tasks and drove like a mad woman to get across the city as soon as I could. The kid’s grandmother walked in shortly after 4, carrying the beautiful birthday princess and gave a half-assed apology for being late. Please. Still, no party mama.

Read More