No More Play-Dates At My House!
As much as my five-year-old son loves play-dates, I am ready to throw in the towel. No, it is not the fact that my house looks like a tornado tore through it after Dylan leaves- with chunks of play-do ground into the carpet and sharp Lego pieces scattered everywhere, just waiting for me to step on. It doesn’t even bother me that I have to wipe Hunter’s poopy tushy after he uses the potty. I never utter a complaint when Jake insists that every miniscule speck of apple peel be removed before he eats his snack.
I didn’t even mind when Ella chastised me for putting peanut butter on her crackers. “My mommy said no peanut butter until I’m 10! Don’t you know that peanut allergies are severe and life-threatening?” she admonished when I attempted to smear the ominous spread on her Organic Saltines.
In fact, there is no idiosyncratic preschool behavior that compares to the actions of these kids’ highly neurotic and delusional mothers. While these West Los Angeles women should feel grateful to not have any real problems, they seem desperate to create all sorts of issues for their little Maddie’s and Aiden’s. And while they’re happy to dump their kid at my house for two or three hours of free babysitting so they can get their forehead botoxed or bikini line brazillianed, they’re quick to express all their “concerns” before doing so.
Most recently my son Shane had a play-date scheduled with his good friend Henry from summer-camp. I should have known that any mom who would name her kid Henry (the most clichéd, unoriginal, and obnoxious name of the decade) would be trouble. Henry has been to my home several times for play-dates and while his mom has not yet reciprocated (which is common) I’m happy to have him over because the boys truly love each other and always have a great time. Even their camp-counselor told me what a special connection Shane and Henry have, and how wonderful it is to watch them play in cooperation with each other.
So on the Monday morning before their play-date, I was surprised when I got a call from Henry’s mom. “I just wanted to touch base with you about this afternoon…” she began. What could it be, I wondered? Was the play-date conflicting with Henry’s private Tae Kwon Do lesson, or had he suddenly developed a deadly allergy to glutenous Goldfish Crackers?
She continued, “Henry told me that Shane was not his friend anymore. His feelings are hurt because whenever he plays at your house, Shane gets to choose what they do.”
I felt a slight sting of shame (as most moms do) when someone criticizes their kid. I didn’t want to reactively jump to his defense, so I took a deep breath and pulled out my best psycho-babble, “I have never observed this when they play. They always seem happy together. Perhaps Shane is being controlling because they’re always on his turf- maybe if the boys played at your house Henry will feel empowered again in their relationship.” Barf-bag not included with this sentiment.
She paused…”Well…I really have to go to Malibu this afternoon for an appointment. I’m sure they will be OK at your house. Just have a talk with them beforehand about taking turns and check in on them while they are playing and make sure everyone is happy….ok?”
Are you freaking kidding me? This woman cares enough about this “situation” to confront me about my son’s behavior, but is still willing to leave her kid at my house for three hours? Furthermore, she is now dictating how I speak to the boys and supervise them while they play???
“Listen,” I said, “Henry never seems upset when he’s here- they’re always laughing and having a great time. But if he doesn’t want to come over or is uncomfortable, then let’s cancel.”
She quickly replied, “Let’s not make this a bigger issue than it is- I’m sure they’ll be fine as long as you keep an eye on them.”
What I wanted to say was, “You crazy, neurotic bitch! No wonder boys are so emasculated and have no sense of self anymore- because they have moms like YOU turning them into total wankers. How about teaching precious Henry to SPEAK UP to his friends, rather then creating false problems and coddling him emotionally? And while you are at, how about giving him a normal name, rather than some uber-yuppified cliché name that every other over-indulged, spoiled-brat, West-Side kid has?”
I restrained myself. Barely.
January 8th, 2010 at 5:12 pm
I have hosted two playdates since my 3.5 yo daughter was born. The first one, she was 1 yo, was when I invited a woman w/ same-aged child from the library’s storytime over for snacks and juice. I served the kids cold carrots and goldfishcrackers. My daughter was teething and she liked gnawing on the cool veggies.
I thought I was sharing this awesome, helpful tool for teething babies. The mother would not allow her child to gnaw on the carrot. She thought it was a shocking hazard. Then she showed me how to do infant CPR.
The second playdate wasn’t a whole lot better.
January 8th, 2010 at 5:12 pm
i mean, chocking hazard.
January 22nd, 2010 at 1:00 pm
You are so funny. I loved, “Barf-bag not included with this sentiment.” You capture so well how normal it is for a Mom to feel defensive, and yet the requirement that she listen and be diplomatic. Geez, being a Mom is hard work! Keep making us laugh, Angstmomma!!!