Author: Jackie Pick

Jackie Pick is a former teacher and current writer living in the Chicago area. She is a contributing author to multiple anthologies, including Multiples Illuminated, So Glad They Told Me: Women Get Real about Motherhood, Here in the Middle, as well as the and the literary magazines The Sun and Selfish. She received Honorable Mention from the Mark Twain House and Museum for her entry in the Royal Nonesuch Humor Writing Competition. Jackie is a contributing writer at Humor Outcasts, and her essays have been featured on various online sites including McSweeney's, Belladonna Comedy, Mamalode, The HerStories Project, and Scary Mommy. A graduate of the University of Chicago and Northwestern University, Jackie is co-creator and co-writer of the award-winning short film Fixed Up, and a proud member of the 2017 Chicago cast of Listen To Your Mother.

LOLcats with a shot of esperanto

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Before I begin, I would just like to mention that a high school friend of mine initiated a Facebook conversation on “lolspeak” and its role in the inevitable downfall of the English language (to be replaced, I’m certain, by Esperanto. I mean come on. )  Another high school friend used this emoticon: ‎\m/ (>_<) \m/

I’m in love with it, and will shamelessly use it to sign off all my emails to the cast of this show, where I am a fight choreographer (yeah, no background in that either. Imagine my worry when a cast member was all excited b/c she’s taking a class in stage fighting right now.  Thanks, Tom and Rachael.

Huzzy and I used to host a hell of a party once a year, B.C. (Before Children).  Hundreds of people invited over on an otherwise grim Saturday evening in January. Drinks flowed, food abounded, and we entertained friends, clients, and family. We lived in an enormous loft in Chicago, and in between some great mingling (we know a lot of good minglers), folks would stare out at the glorious skyline. It was our party. It was a thing, a destination, an event we were proud to have brought up in conversations year round.

Then we had kids and moved to East Elbow, Chicago Suburbs, harder to get to, our cool (read: childless) friends decided we were a drag and we were too tired to stay up past 9:00, regardless of awesome cocktails Huzzy devises.  Those three may inform each other.

So now, our big “party” is for the boys’ birthday. Guest list skews younger, party is shorter, and there is a lot less drinking (except by me, but for all you know, that’s fruit punch in my Thomas the Tank Engine cup.)  They turn three this Saturday, and we’re expecting 50 people (including children.) That number could jump to 75, as it seems there is a great number of people who believe RSVPing is too great a burden.

So this week I clean and dash and stash and  think about cupcakes and try to keep the boys from completely losing their shit while still trying to maintain a semblance of excitement.

There will be no clowns or musicians or ball pits or bouncy structures or organized anything. There will be food and all sorts of outdoor games and toys set up. Pray it doesn’t rain, or the big event of the day will be “Who can clean the windows fastest?” (Prize is, of course, a giant bottle of Windex. It’s thematic.)

I’m distracted this week. Can’t clean too early, can’t bake too early, so I anticipate Friday afternoon will be a suckfest of activity. Thank goodness we’re able to have a sitter spend the afternoon. Hopefully she won’t sniff my Thomas cup.