she's just sayin'

I’m hosting a playdate at my house today.  Playdate.  Doesn’t that word kind of grate on your nerves?  It sounds a little, I don’t know, pompous? Trite?  Like it’s trying too hard? I think, and I could be wrong, that the term is a relatively new phenomenon. Back when I was growing up (oh here we go) people just went to each other’s houses and brought their kids. Right? When I was very young, although old enough to know how to use the phone, I would call up my friend Emily and say, in my tiny little girl voice, ‘do you want to play?’ And she’d say yes, and then I’d ride my bike over to her house and we’d make up dance routines to Bell Biv Devoe or Janet Jackson (If you know me now, you’d find it HILARIOUS that I ever performed dance routines. Elaine Benes has got nothing on me).

Back to the playdate. I’ve never been to one, let alone hosted. What happens at these things? How long do they go on for? Are we actively trying to get the babies to play together, or do we just want them to stay calm and quiet long enough so that we can bitch and moan about whatever’s on our minds? Is this really an opportunity to find out what other people are doing, what child-rearing secrets they’ve unearthed that we may not know about? “So, how are you, how’s your family? Good? Great! Hey, just curious, is your baby sleeping through the night? What did you do? How did you do it? Tell me more! MORE! MOOOOOORE!”

My friend asked what she could bring to the playdate. I said, ‘just yourselves’ all easy breezy like I’ve got it ALL under control. Then I panicked. What should I make? Should I keep it simple, serve sandwiches? What if they don’t like sandwiches? How many different types of bread should I have on hand? Can we have cocktails? I’d like a cocktail.  Is noon too early for a drink?

What about toys? Do I have enough?  One of the babies is a few months older than Drew. Are my toys age appropriate, or is he gonna be all, ‘pssshhhaw, this toy is SO five months!’ Is Drew going to be upset if one of the other babies hijacks his exersaucer? ‘That’s MY little yellow butterfly you’re spinning!’

Wish me luck.

MY jumpy chair!

Tags: motherhood, suburbia

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