Last month, I received the invitation that all parents dread. I knew this day was coming: The Chuck E. Cheese Birthday Party.

The worst part was, there was no way to get out of it — the birthday girl was one of my son’s best friends from pre-school, and his future bride, according to both of them.

So I did what any good mom would do. I grit my teeth and emailed back my reply: “Of course we’ll be there! Alex is so excited.”

As the day approached, I had flashbacks to two prior parties at this frenetic, migraine-inducing establishment. At the first, I lost my son in the habitrail tunnel for a good 30 minutes. (He was purposely blocking up the pipe like some kind of toddler hair clump.) And at the second, a random child vomited pizza on my feet. You know how when someone yawns, it makes everyone around them yawn? Uh huh. You get the picture.

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