I admit it— I bought myself an expensive purse this summer.   There was a time in my life when I purposefully avoided status symbols, when I thought people who spent money on frivolity were consumerist idiots, unenlightened lemmings.   But things have changed this past year,and I can actually afford a Coach bag, so now I’m all over it, hypocrisy be damned.   I even convinced myself that every woman needs an investment piece as a right of passage into adulthood.   And hell, it was really, really cute. So there.

     Rights of passage were on my mind today as I headed out with the kids  to take my five year old to get his first library card.  The librarian made a huge deal out of it, bless her heart.  She gave him a little wallet to keep it safe, and reminded him of the awesome priveledge and responsibility that comes with being a library patron.  My five year old was all puffed up with pride as he picked out his books, and almost burst when he was able to check them out on his own card. 

     I figured this called for a celebration, so the kids and I made our long hand-holding chain and marched across the parking lot to the restaurant for a special lunch.  We picked out our food, and headed over to the seating area, which was packed with the lunch-break crowd. The kids always follow me like ducklings when my hands are full, so I assumed everyone was behind me as I walked to our table with a full tray of food.  Then I heard one of my 2 yr olds crying from across the room. I quickly put the food down and scooped him up from the floor.

  I didn’t see him fall, so I didn’t know what he hurt.  I checked him over for red spots, with no luck, feeling like everyone thought I was a terrible mom for letting my kid run wild in a busy restaurant.   I kept asking, “What hurts? Can you point to what hurts?”  He kept crying and pointed to his stomach,  which didn’t make sense to me.  So I started to carry him over to get silverware with me.  And then he went still.  And then he hiccuped.  And then he projectile vomited not once, not twice, but three times, all over him, all over me,  all over the restaurant and right into my open Coach purse*. 

  So much for status symbols.

* he’s fine, by the way, most important of all.