Warning: Language

How much can I get for this fucking shirt? 

Do you ever have one of those moments where you take a step back and think REALLY? THIS IS MY LIFE?

Well I do, actually I just did on Super Bowl Sunday. Yes. We watched the Broncos get their butts kicked in a blow-out game, and I wouldn't have cared all that much had I not dropped way too much money at Target buying the family over-priced Bronco's attire and had my eight year old son not felt personally invested in the outcome of the game. You see I'm really not a football fan. In fact I can't tell you anything about the sport. I don't really know what a running back or a tight end is, I don't understand the rules and my only interest in the big game is in the splashy commercials. But we were invited to a party and attending just felt like the right thing to do.

Our party hosts were really friends of friends. We had never been to their home before and in fact we were meeting many of the guests for the first time. It was a welcoming group. There were tons of kids. Tons of  food. And booze. You can't forget the booze. Mmmm. So much sweet liquor. It was hospitality at it's finest.

We had a genuinely nice time. Even though the game was dismal and the commercials lack-luster,  the company was good, the kids were happy. We barely saw our children  they were busy chasing each other, building Lego "creations" and stuffing their faces with baked goods. Things were going so damn well that Julian actually came up and informed me when he had to go potty (since I was busy admiring a mostly naked David Beckham in an ad for... I'm not sure what it was.)

As the evening drew to a close, heads shaking, how did this happen?, we began to collect our things and ready for our departure. Time to gather the kiddos together, if we could find them.  But where were they? Just as we began to look for our three monsters they appeared before our eyes. Let me rephrase, we were approached by an unruly group of youngsters, giggling that naughty laugh, among them, my two eldest. I was quickly informed that my five year old Evan had taken a marker to the hostess's daughter and wrote FUCK in crude script across her naked shoulder. Oh. FUCK. Are you kidding me? The kids were all smiles and the parents were stifling their laughter. But this was my FUCKING child! The little girl was quickly escorted by her mother to the bathroom to scrub away the offensive marker and I was left standing there thinking, now what the FUCK do I do?

Lucky for us we were leaving anyway, so I grabbed my five year old by the arm and informed him that due to his poor behavior we had to go. He smirked his little five year old smirk. I felt my face flush. Clearly this kid didn't give a flying fuck about leaving. I kneeled down to eye level with my son and attempted a snarl. I gritted my teeth and tried to appear somewhat threatening. "This is not okay. You will apologize to your friend and her parents, or you will be very, very sorry." I took his hand in a firm grip and marched him to the bathroom where the little girl's back was being scrubbed cleaned by her mother. Evan said nothing. I squeezed his hand a little too hard and demanded from my son "What do you have to say???" He mumbled a feeble "sorry" and that was that.

I left the party shaking my head in disbelief.  How is this my life? How is this my child? He comes from a good family damn it!! I'm supposed to be the one worried about bad influences as I patiently teach my children how to be good and kind. Instead I am now the mom working to craft a humble email to our new friends:

 "We deeply regret our son's poor behavior. We are so FUCKING embarrassed."