I Know You Want a Playdate Play-by-Play

You are so lovely and kind and comforting and wise. I adore you, truly. Thank you. 

Also, just as an FYI: posting something highly vulnerable in the middle of the night – despite receiving kind, gentle, and understanding responses – may result in searing embarrassment. 

Moving on, let’s talk about playdates!!! It’s all playdates all the time over here, folks! 

We had two, on consecutive days, and they are now over, and they went okay. I feel more confident about future playdates, and have also reinforced my belief that back-to-back playdates are Too Much For Me.

Like many suggested, I allowed Carla to fill the kids in on our house rules (i.e., no shoes in the house, wash your hands when you come into the house, no food outside of the kitchen). As you predicted, no one complained. 

I mainly left the kids alone to do their own thing, but there were two hiccups with this plan during the first playdate. 

First, I had to unexpectedly re-do a writing project, so I needed focused time to work while the kids were playing. But of all Carla’s many toys, they seized on her small collection of remote-controlled animals/robots and brought them all downstairs – presumably because they move more easily on the hard flooring instead of the carpet. 

After I asked them not to spy on me with the walkie talkie robot, they abandoned this avenue of play. One of my rules is “no screens” – although there is a special dispensation for a movie once all other play options, including going outside, have been exhausted. But during the first playdate, the kids went into the basement and started playing music on the TV in the workout room. Carla does this when she “works out,” by which I mean she sets the treadmill to something like point-five miles per hour and then sings along to Dua Lipa and Ava Max while she walks. Fine, I can be flexible with this re-interpretation of the no-screens thing. 

After awhile, I noticed that I couldn’t hear the music anymore so I went to check on the kids… and they were sitting in the dark on the exercise bench playing some sort of “would you rather” game on the TV. They’d found it on… YouTube? Netflix? I honestly have no idea. The questions I saw were pretty tame, but I have NO IDEA what the content of the other questions was so I put the kibosh on this activity pretty quickly. 

Well. Lesson learned, and before the second playdate, I re-discussed with Carla my reasoning for not allowing screens, and talked with her YET AGAIN about why unsupervised internet surfing freaks me out, and I specified that even the downstairs TV is off limits. 

So. We were all set for playdate number two, and that went very smoothly. The kids played Truth or Dare most of the time, which consisted mainly of them daring one another to run into my office and shout something nonsensical or do a little dance. 

All of the other things I worried about – you are going to be SHOCKED by this, so brace yourself – turned out to be non-issues. I had Reasons for being near both of the friends’ houses, so we were able to pick up one friend and drop off the other, and one of their parents did the other half of the interaction. I loaded up on plenty of snacks, and the kids ate the snacks – except for the bananas, which I will now have to add to my already robust supply of frozen overripe bananas. I fed both kids dinner, and that worked out fine, although one of the kids didn’t want chicken nuggets so I had to pivot at the last minute. Thankfully, I had some meatballs in the freezer and she was amenable to eating those with some spaghetti noodles; my kid ate plain pasta. 

Because the kids had other activities, the duration of the playdates sort of fell into place organically. They ended up being about four hours each, which worked just fine. Time will tell whether Carla gets invited to the kids’ houses for playdates – although one parent said she was welcome anytime – but after everyone’s accounts of how infrequently their own kids got invited to playdates, I am no longer focusing on that particular worry; I’m sure others will move right in to take its place. 

You are so lovely and kind and comforting and wise. I adore you, truly. Thank you. 

Also, just as an FYI: posting something highly vulnerable in the middle of the night – despite receiving kind, gentle, and understanding responses – may result in searing embarrassment. 

Moving on, let’s talk about playdates!!! It’s all playdates all the time over here, folks! 

We had two, on consecutive days, and they are now over, and they went okay. I feel more confident about future playdates, and have also reinforced my belief that back-to-back playdates are Too Much For Me.

Like many suggested, I allowed Carla to fill the kids in on our house rules (i.e., no shoes in the house, wash your hands when you come into the house, no food outside of the kitchen). As you predicted, no one complained. 

I mainly left the kids alone to do their own thing, but there were two hiccups with this plan during the first playdate. 

First, I had to unexpectedly re-do a writing project, so I needed focused time to work while the kids were playing. But of all Carla’s many toys, they seized on her small collection of remote-controlled animals/robots and brought them all downstairs – presumably because they move more easily on the hard flooring instead of the carpet. 

After I asked them not to spy on me with the walkie talkie robot, they abandoned this avenue of play. One of my rules is “no screens” – although there is a special dispensation for a movie once all other play options, including going outside, have been exhausted. But during the first playdate, the kids went into the basement and started playing music on the TV in the workout room. Carla does this when she “works out,” by which I mean she sets the treadmill to something like point-five miles per hour and then sings along to Dua Lipa and Ava Max while she walks. Fine, I can be flexible with this re-interpretation of the no-screens thing. 

After awhile, I noticed that I couldn’t hear the music anymore so I went to check on the kids… and they were sitting in the dark on the exercise bench playing some sort of “would you rather” game on the TV. They’d found it on… YouTube? Netflix? I honestly have no idea. The questions I saw were pretty tame, but I have NO IDEA what the content of the other questions was so I put the kibosh on this activity pretty quickly. 

Well. Lesson learned, and before the second playdate, I re-discussed with Carla my reasoning for not allowing screens, and talked with her YET AGAIN about why unsupervised internet surfing freaks me out, and I specified that even the downstairs TV is off limits. 

So. We were all set for playdate number two, and that went very smoothly. The kids played Truth or Dare most of the time, which consisted mainly of them daring one another to run into my office and shout something nonsensical or do a little dance. 

Another unexpected – hmmm… “dilemma” seems too strong a word, but that’s in the neighborhood of how I’m feeling about this so we’ll stick with it – dilemma arose during the not-insignificant car rides to and from the playdates. It’s partially my fault, and I have now Set A Precedent, so it’s something to mull. I suggested that the kids take turns making song requests to liven up the car ride. They really enjoyed this, and I enjoyed hearing their adorable conversations about the artists they like. However, Carla is allowed to listen to a lot of music, even if it has questionable lyrics. I draw the line currently at hard rap and other words with frequent cursing or use of the N-word, but even Taylor Swift will throw out an F-bomb now and again. We’ve talked about cursing and how there is a time and a place, and Carla is pretty averse to it overall, so we feel that it’s okay in music. I prefer the radio edits, honestly, but I’m not precious about it. But… I don’t really know how OTHER PARENTS feel about this. For one of our playdates, I know the parents really well and I think they would be okay with it… but the other kid’s parents are not as familiar to me. She didn’t seem to request, like, exclusively Disney songs or KidzBop songs, so I am guessing her parents let her listen to a range of music, but may be a little more restrictive than my husband and I are on this topic. Anyway, there was a lot of whispering in the car over song selection, and I heard Carla say, “Oh, she won’t mind” about me, and I overheard some discussion about and then a decision not to request a song that had a curse word in the title. And there was a song Carla requested that has the F-word in it, so I very loudly and obnoxiously bleeped that out every time it came up, which the kids found both annoying and hilarious. I don’t know. Curse words exist in the world. These kids are ten and eleven and are aware of that. So I guess I don’t feel too bad about allowing a little bit of cursing in songs we listen to??? But also I feel a little unsure about the “right” stance to take, when I am charged with caring for another person’s kid. Your thoughts are welcome.

All of the other things I worried about – you are going to be SHOCKED by this, so brace yourself – turned out to be non-issues. I had Reasons for being near both of the friends’ houses, so we were able to pick up one friend and drop off the other, and one of their parents did the other half of the interaction. I loaded up on plenty of snacks, and the kids ate the snacks – except for the bananas, which I will now have to add to my already robust supply of frozen overripe bananas. I fed both kids dinner, and that worked out fine, although one of the kids didn’t want chicken nuggets so I had to pivot at the last minute. Thankfully, I had some meatballs in the freezer and she was amenable to eating those with some spaghetti noodles; my kid ate plain pasta. 

Because the kids had other activities, the duration of the playdates sort of fell into place organically. They ended up being about four hours each, which worked just fine. Time will tell whether Carla gets invited to the kids’ houses for playdates – although one parent said she was welcome anytime – but after everyone’s accounts of how infrequently their own kids got invited to playdates, I am no longer focusing on that particular worry; I’m sure others will move right in to take its place. 

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More Angsting about Playdates

Here I am, all easy breezy, having scheduled TWO spring break playdates like it ain’t no thing. When it turns out I am not done stressing about playdates, not even a little bit. Here are some of my specific (and let’s face it, pretty deranged) worries:

Being Too Lax or, Conversely, Too Strict: We have house rules, and I think it’s reasonable that kids who visit our house should abide by those rules, just as I’d expect Carla to abide by the rules of any house she visits. But when people who aren’t my family are in my house, I start to second guess our rules. Is it weirdly fastidious to ask that people take off their shoes? Am I helicoptering if I tell the friend that there’s no dropping things/throwing things/jumping from the balcony? Am I being a psychopathic germaphobe/germaphobic psychopath if I expect kids to wash their hands when they come into the house (which is what every member of my immediate family does upon entering our home, every time)? I don’t want kids playing in my bedroom or my office, I don’t want kids jumping or standing on the furniture, we don’t eat anywhere besides the kitchen. These things feel reasonable in my day-to-day life, but when I collect all these rules into a tidy bunch to present to another person, they feel like A Lot. And how do you convey your expectations? I don’t want to be condescending or overly rigid by announcing a thousand rules up front, but I also don’t want a kid to “break” a rule she doesn’t know and then feel like she’s being scolded for it. And also, what about rules that you feel like you shouldn’t have to say out loud, and also are hard to anticipate because they seem so obvious, like “don’t throw food” or “don’t paint on things using the carpet as a dropcloth”? 

Logistics: We now live out of town, and I realize that it’s not super easy to get here. One recent playdate, we brought the kid home with us from school and then drove her home. Another recent playdate, I picked the kid up from her house, her parent came and got her from mine. I think I have established logistics upfront for one of our two already-scheduled playdates – we are going to be in the area of the kid’s house, so when we arranged the day, I said we would pick her up and suggested that her parent come and get her after the playdate is over. But the other kid lives QUITE far away. We can drop her off, and I already let her parent know that… but we haven’t figured out the details of how the kid is getting to my house… I really don’t want to offer to go get her, because it will be a long drive and we are already going to drop her off. But… is it fair to ask her parents to endure the long drive to bring her here? I could suggest we meet somewhere in the middle, I guess. Is that weird?

Duration: When Carla was little, playdates were pretty typically two or three hours long. These days, they seem to last a bit longer, which is fine… but how long is too long? Are they going to hate each other if they spend more than three hours together? And what about sleepovers, which are necessarily much longer? Carla has had ONE sleepover, and when her mom asked what time she should pick her up, and I suggested eleven the next morning, the mom expressed surprise. “Let me know if I should come earlier,” she said ominously, as though the kids would be at each other’s throats. (Eleven worked out fine, but that feels like beginner’s luck????) At this age, is a meal always involved? For instance, I think our playdates are beginning after lunch… but does that mean I need to prepare dinner? (I am already prepared to prepare dinner, I am just wondering if that’s normal or if I’m overthinking the whole thing.) (Hahahahaha, ME?!?!, overthink anything?!?!?!)

Reciprocity Signals: Carla doesn’t get invited to a whole lot of playdates. I don’t think she’s been to a single one this year. Yet she and her friends seem to PLAN a lot of playdates at school. And everyone we’ve invited for a playdate at our house has said yes. So… is this just a case of the other families are busy and/or hate playdates even more than I do and/or they just haven’t gotten around to it and/or they have multiple children so fitting playdates in and among the thousand extracurricular activities they must be juggling is simply impossible? Or am I missing a subtle signal that Carla is not welcome at their homes or not well liked by other kids or or or?????

My mom reminds me that when I was a kid, NONE OF THIS was an issue. She said the word “playdate” was not even part of our vocabulary. I would just say, “Can So-and-So come over?” and that was that. We’d come over and entertain ourselves. But… how? I am guessing – hoping – some of this stress comes from lack of practice. In any event, the ball is already picking up speed as it bumbles down the hill.

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Instead of Dinners This Week, Some Rambling (Plus Seriously, Where Is the Ricer?)

It is a Call Week, so I am relieving myself of the drudgery of meal planning for this week. Ahhhhhhhhh, sweet self-imposed freedom from self-imposed obligation.

I just got back from chaperoning a field trip. Yes, the field trip I was whining about last week. I like to drag my worrying out as long as possible.

Taking responsibility for any children more than my own first grader is, as you may suspect, completely outside my comfort zone. The teacher may have understood this – she has met me before, after all – and only assigned me one other charge besides Carla. The little girl was so cute and held my hand whenever the teacher instructed the children to “find their grown ups.” I was HER grown up, so she was going to make sure I didn’t get lost. (Carla, in typical Carla fashion, did not care whether I was in her eyeline, just as long as I was ON the field trip.)

Our destination was what felt like an hour’s drive away. The duration of the trip – or, should I say, the perceived duration – may owe something to the endless games of “Would You Rather” and “I Spy” and “Twenty Questions” we played. We played enough rounds of each for me to have a clear Least Favorite (I Spy) and to never want to play any of the three again. These games were, however, preferable to the game the girls had been playing when we first got on the bus. “Hamster” I believe it was called. The gist, from what I understand, is that Carla was a hamster (hence the thrilling name of the game) and that the other little girl was her owner. I found it highly amusing that the other little girl would hold out a carrot – a completely imaginary, completely invisible carrot, mind you – and that Carla would say, “No, no, I want little pieces of carrot” and then the other little girl would not only not mind this arbitrary distinction (INVISIBLE and IMAGINARY carrot) but would readily comply.

This is the kind of thing that makes me hate imaginary play with my child. Give me reading. Give me art projects. Give me (gourd save me) a board game. (Not Candyland. Never Candyland.) But when it comes to following the meandering and impromptu and too-often contradictory rules of a game of pretend, I would rather stick a fork in my eye.

Speaking of forks, I am sort of wishing that my everyday flatware would wear out. My husband and I chose our flatware purposefully. We loved the contemporary sleekness of it. But most of all, we loved the heft of the utensils. They felt sturdy. Real. That’s the very thing that we hate so much about them now. The stems are TOO heavy; they are constantly falling off the edges of dishes or into bowls. They have rounded edges, too, so they slide off even perfectly flat and still plates and it is super annoying. It is time for them to go. But I cannot bring myself to replace Perfectly Good Flatware, you know? It’s not cheap, to buy a whole new set of forks, knives, and spoons. And there’s nothing broken or damaged about this set. It’s just stupid and irritates me on a near daily basis, that’s all. I guess I will just wait until the utensils wear out and I can happily replace them.

Of course, they are NOT wearing out. Not at all. This despite the fact that we seem to have officially crossed some sort of Household Item Breakdown Threshold, because over the past two years or so, I’ve noticed that more and more of our housewares are surrendering to age or overuse or existential dread. Our everyday dishes (purchased 2009) suddenly have big chips. The handles of our pots-and-pans-set (purchased 2003) have started to detach from the bowls of the pots. Our cookie sheets (2009) are dark brown and have a permanent aura of grime, not to mention they don’t seem to lie flat anymore. We’ve lost enough of our backup everyday water glasses (2009) that I had to order more. Our duvet cover (2009) developed a hole that I was unable  unwilling  unqualified to repair. Our bath towels (2009) suddenly seem exhausted and threadbare and completely resistant to the softening effects of Downy. Our kitchen towels (2009) are universally stained and resist being folded into anything resembling a straight line. Our everyday steak knives (2003) have been washed so many times the wooden handles are sprouting splinters that make dicing onions an exercise in bravery and pain. I am sure there are more examples.

I suppose this is the nature of things: they are temporary. You get as much use out of them as you can. And then you move on. Yet I am nonetheless bewildered by their disrepair. I have used these same pots in four different homes across the better part of two decades! Why would they fail me now? It is perhaps a level of betrayal that one should not feel toward inanimate objects.

We have so far replaced the duvet cover and the kitchen towels and the pots and the cookie sheets. I hope these signs of wear and tear confine themselves to our household items and don’t spread to our actual marriage. Perhaps that’s why their disrepair feels so significant: I am correlating them too closely with my marriage; understandable, since we bought some things when we moved in together (2003) and the rest when we got married (2009).

Moving on quickly lest we get too philosophical/metaphorical here: You will note that I said we have replaced several items. And yet the old, failing items remain. The dark and gritty cookie sheets? Still in the same drawer, on top of the brand new cookie sheets – which are so lovely and fresh looking I have been avoiding using them, lest they lose the newness. SIGH. I glance lovingly at the shiny new pots (well, they aren’t shiny; they’re non-stick) and pass over them in favor of playing another tantalizing round of Will It Or Won’t It Fall Off: Pot Handle Edition. The dingy kitchen towels are still folded, if haphazardly, in the towel cupboard and are still part of my towel rotation. At least I USE the newer towels, though.

I think my husband and I both suffer from (varying degrees of) a very dangerous combination of practicality and sentimentality. Alone, they are often stronger than logic. Paired together, logic has no chance whatsoever. Why do we need three coffee machines?Logic asks. What if we have a lot of people over at one time? Practicality answers.  We have never once used these crystal glasses of your mother’s, Logic points out. Plus, we already have your grandmother’s crystal upstairs in the dining room and we never use those anyway. Inarguable, right? But we might have a big fancy party someday and need EXTRA, Practicality counters. And they belonged to YOUR MOTHER, Sentimentality says. Game, set, and match.

Sometimes I wonder if I should get really into Marie Kondo like its 2014. But – from my very limited understanding of the Kondo method – I petulantly disagree with the whole “keep only things that bring you joy” principle. And I am sure – SURE – that the actual Kondo method has exceptions for things of practical necessity. I mean, no one keeps a bottle of Advil or a plunger on hand for reasons of JOY.  It’s probably more a method of thinning down multiples of things – like cardigans or jeans or stuffed cats (every single one of which brings Carla joy, I don’t even have to ask).

What does Kondo have to say about occasional-use things, though? Like a ricer or a bottle of hydrogen peroxide? Neither is going to save your life (or unclog your toilet), and I am going to venture a guess and say neither is going to bring you any sort of joy. But sometimes you just need a ricer.

I couldn’t find my ricer this past Thanksgiving, to my husband’s chagrin and my moderated glee (he and I have differing opinions about the optimal smoothness of mashed potatoes). And I wondered if I somehow got rid of it without remembering? Would I have done that? Did I say, “No joy” and toss it into a box of things headed to Goodwill? That doesn’t sound like me, (see above re: knives that give me literal splinters) but… I have no idea where the ricer could be. (Where IS my ricer?) Wherever it is, I think it’s rubbing elbows with my knife sharpener, which I cannot find either.

I could see myself applying – with prejudice – the Kondo method to my kitchen. I mean, the pots whose handles are ready to release themselves from the pot at any moment should definitely go. We ALREADY have replacement pots. Sure – addressing Practicality – it’s nice to have extras, but they are rickety and liable to break just as you are transporting a pot of hot soup from stove to counter. And yes – addressing Sentimentality – they were the first pots my husband and I bought when we first lived together a million years ago, but they are JUST POTS. In no way do these pots bring me joy. More like apprehension.

I could also go through my Drawer of Kitchen Crap and pick out the things that no longer bring me joy. The herb stripper I was so excited about when I got it? I use it so infrequently. And really, I don’t NEED it that often. And it’s just the wrong shape for the drawer, so if it isn’t positioned exactly right, it catches on the top of the counter and holds the drawer closed and I have to jiggle and jam my hand into the drawer and wiggle things around until I can get it open again. IT CAN GO.

Drawer of Kitchen Crap

What about the Bundt pan that I have never once used and which I fully plan on continuing to never use?  Just because it is in Brand New Condition is no reason to keep it.

What even is a Bundt cake? Is it really a thing, that people make and eat? Is it, like, cake cake? Or is it, as I imagine, more of a bread? Is it good? Have I been missing out on all sorts of Bundt-related deliciousness all these years that the Bundt pan has been taking up space in my pantry?

I could go for some cake right now, honestly.

After all, even if I have forgone meal planning, it does not mean that I can forgo actually FEEDING my family. They continue to require sustenance. Cake counts, right?

All right, I am off to scrape together some sort of probably-non-cake food for my child. And then maybe see if she can I Spy my ricer.

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Daycare Drop Off Woes and Other People’s Kids

We have been having Some Issues with drop off recently, where Carla gets very upset as I try to leave. It breaks my heart and sets the day off on a horrible You Monster, Why Do You Put Your Kid in Daycare start, so we have been testing some strategies to see if we can nip this in the bud.

Today was Day 2 of Strategy: Lovey, wherein Carla brings a small stuffed animal to school that she can hug when she misses me. Day 1 went very well, so I have high hopes.

This morning, one of Carla’s classmates was ALSO having a rough morning. She was crying already when I entered the classroom, and as I was trying to put things in Carla’s cubby (extra shoes, lunchbox, water bottle) while simultaneously saying soothing and cheerful things to Carla, the little girl came up to me, wailing, and held her arms out for a hug.

I mean, who am I to deny a child a hug? I really, really hope that’s not out of bounds. But I think if my daughter was having a rough time and just needed a hug, I would be grateful to another mom for giving her that comfort.

Poor kiddo – a hug did not cut it. And of course, here’s Carla, saying, “That’s MY mommy.” I tried to say calmly to her, “Your friend is having a rough moment, and it’s okay for her to give me a hug” while hugging this poor child. The little girl is now trying to climb on me, she wants to be picked up, but I don’t want to cross any weird parental boundaries, and also Carla is climbing on my other side, so I say gently, “Sweetie, I can’t pick you up, I’m sorry you’re having a rough day, it’s going to be okay.”

This is totally my response to Sad Feelings, by the way, because it is the way I want to be treated when I’m sad. I soothe, I acknowledge, I offer calm reassurances. But I am not good at distracting a child from her feelings. I mean, I have LEARNED how to do that, with Carla. But it didn’t even occur to me in this situation.

Of course, my own anxiety is ramping up at the same time. I’m just trying to get Carla situated so I can leave without her dissolving into tears. Now, in the calm and quiet of my house, I feel like I should have just sat down on the floor, talked with the little girl – at the very least, asked her or Carla what her name was! – and overall been more patient with the situation. Instead, I got more and more frantic, trying to peel the crying child off of me so I can hug my daughter, who is beginning to look more and more upset.

That’s when another mom swooped in. “This isn’t your child?” she asked, and I shook my head. And she took the little girl’s hand (the child was STILL wailing, tears and snot sloshing down her face – this is my NIGHTMARE, that when I leave, Carla cries and cries and cries, rather than stopping as soon as I’m out of sight.) and said brightly, “Have you washed your hands yet? Let’s go do that and then we’ll play with your friends!”

Oh how I want to be that mom. Not only is she a fantastic dresser (today she had on this long floral dress that was breezy and summery and elegant all at once) and not only does she have a super cool haircut, but she was kind and confident and knew exactly what to do.

I barely feel confident with MY OWN child. Let’s be honest: most of the time I have no idea what I’m doing, and even when my stabs in the dark seem to work, I feel like I’m about to tumble over the edge into incompetence at any moment. And when it comes to someone else’s child? Absolutely no idea.

Babies. I can handle babies. Let me hold your baby, feed her, change her diaper. I am good at that. Big kids? Not so much.

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