True confessions of a bougie black girl

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Here’s a true confession.
I’m kind of a bougie black girl.
Cue the fake swoon.
I know it’s obvious.
There are times though when my bougie streak runs truer than fine china and grandma’s pearls.
Like today.
Our daughter takes soccer lessons in our old neighborhood, a community I fondly refer to as hip and hood adjacent.
There was a hastily organized Easter Egg Hunt to follow. I was hesitant about going because I was on solo kid duty today with both children to give my wonderful hubby a break.
And me and hastily organized events don’t mesh.
But I figured “why not?”
Oh Lord. What did I do that for?
The event was slated to start at noon, but when the clock struck 12 folks were still milling about.
“Ugh,” I thought, “we’re gonna do CP time.”
And yeah, that’s some bougie ish to think.
My adorably tubby baby in his Bjorn (read: more bougie ish) was already starting to feel a bit heavy on this increasingly warm day.
Plus, I had our now jittery dog in tow in anticipation of leaving there and taking him directly to doggy daycare (uh huh, yet more bougieness). The playground where the organizer and others were waiting around doesn’t allow dogs either so I needed to move to an area where dogs were okay.
My friend, who is due any day now with her second child, and I exchanged glances. We both started uphill lugging our extra baby weight with us.
12:10…the organizer was still explaining the rules down there.
Did she say we’re starting, we wondered. Our antsy three year olds picked up a few eggs at their feet.
“We haven’t started yet,” she called up at us.
We waited some more.
12:15…Dear God! This woman was STILL explaining the rules. By now the parents on the hill, most of us with babies in body carriers and strollers perched there seeking a quick exit when this was all over, were also antsy.
Our two kids picked up a few more eggs at their feet. I let them.
“We haven’t started yet,” the organizer called uphill.
One parent cursed softly under his breath. Another rolled her eyes.
“Jesus woman,” I muttered under my breath. “How long does it take to explain egg hunting rules?” One dad said it was just like doing your taxes, only more painful, like real life.
I shrugged the “what gives” sign at my friend and her husband. We shook our heads at each other in annoyed disbelief.
12:20…Finally, we start!
And the kids had fun hunting.
Then I noticed that a number of the eggs were hidden near a concrete pad and stretch of grass littered with broken beer bottles.
And hell, was that a discarded needle near that bush?
Whose bright idea was it to hide eggs here?
“No, don’t touch that baby. It’s broken glass,” I told my friend’s son as he reached down.
I turned to my friend in exasperation and said “this really wasn’t well organized.” My friend agreed and we shook our heads incredulously.
I think the woman heard me, but I didn’t care. By now I’d had enough.
I directed my kid’s egg hunting toward the car. I thanked the organizer for putting it together. After all, she did the best she was capable of on a voluntary basis with what she had. I also made myself a mental promise never to do that particular egg hunt ever again.
12:32…we drove off.
Luckily, the whole affair ended quickly and I was able to fashion a do-over of sorts at another egg hunt nearby.
This event had an Easter Bunny, a DJ spinning old school hip hop classics, games, arts and crafts, and yes…eggs.
Still, I recognize that my bougie sensibilities played into my earlier annoyance.
I can’t stand CP time.
Sure there are times when being late is unavoidable, but when folks drone on so long they make events run late, well…that’s just nuts. Reminds me of when my friend would take me to church with her and services lasted all damn morning.
Why, Lord? Why?
I am also really funny about my kid’s physical environment. I’m trying to loosen up on this while not letting go of all standards of health and safety. Public park potty? We did that today (though I’ll admit to scrubbing the seat thoroughly with hand sanitizer).
I draw the line at egg hunting grounds littered with broken glass and an errant drug needle though.
And truth be told, if you were to ask my kid, she’d probably say she had fun at both egg hunts equally.
Now if she can just get her bougie mama onboard.

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About domesticpolichick

My life is a crazy jumble of sitcom-level domestic hijinks and fast-paced political reporting in the nation's capital. Breastfeeding while doing a phone interview with a senator...yep, I've done it and no, I won't reveal the name. Toddler calling a member of Congress on the cell..yeah, that really did happen. Pregnant in high heels on Capitol Hill trying to chase down a particularly grumpy senator, yeah...that was nuts. But what can I say? I'm just one domestic polichick trying to figure out the work-life balance.
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