A Reluctant Confession

I have a dirty little confession to make.

I have been keeping it in for a long time, hoping things would change and I would suddenly fit into the National League of Good All-American Mothers by suddenly or gradually loving what I have come to despise.

I have been reluctant to share, in part, as I did not want to offend those who have experienced what my entire body cringes at the name of, and for those dear friends to think my recoiling has ANY thing to do with them or their children when, in fact, it has only everything to do with me and mine.

Here it is:

{Gulp}

I.

DESPISE.

PLAY-

DATES.

{Are you still there?}

It starts with the very title these events are known by here in North Amercia.

"Play Dates"

A date set aside in which to play. Innocent enough definition, but (again, this is just from a mother of 5 very small people's perspective) hardly descriptive of the chaos of combined crews it can set up for the participants. Perhaps if it was called 'Joyous Jamboree' or 'Fun Frolic' or a term of a more whimsical nature, it wouldn't make me flinch at the mere mention of the words.

Yet even new, fanciful terminology could not cloak the weariness and frustration that such events unfold in messy fashion. Seriously, I am not one of those 'do it all' women. I just am not. There are rare days when I have a few hours with just the twins or none at all (thanks to the gracious help of my mom or husband), but mostly we are home. No pre-school, no Thursday morning Bible Studies, no "Meet at the Park Fridays". Those things are great, just not worth it FOR ME in MY situation. Thus, devoting most of my days and nights to tending the home fires with my little charges darting in and out between my legs leaves me longing for adult company. It is in those lonely moments that the memory of the last play date I hosted grows blurry, and make myself available for another one (kinda like childbirth...you forget).

Then the dear, treasured friend and her little offspring(s) come bebopping into our backyard, we hug and greet in our roller coaster voice tones that convey the genuine happiness at seeing each other, although in most cases both of us nearly went insane trying to get our children ready by a set time and we're still a little shaken from it. I am usually handed a completely unnecessary little contribution such as muffins or coffee and I think "See, you silly girl? This is fun! Why do I hesitate?". Such thoughts only occur within the first five minutes.

Let me stress here again, it is not the friend, nor her child or children that have brought me to this place. It is my hope for adult conversation and the expectation (no matter how low I've coached myself to make them) that my children will be so preoccupied with new children that they spend all morning 'talking amongst themselves', leaving us mother's be to sip our coffee and nibble our muffins in peace.

Instead (and I'll use very recent examples from personal experience) my children decide to showcase the weird, unsanitary and primitive sides to themselves when we have other decent, 'normal' humankind over:

~A male child, in his fourth year, comes over to me and I notice he has something rather large protruding from the crotch area of his shorts {I am choosing to leave a lot left unsaid here}. I swiftly retrieve the conspicuously lodged yo-yo in front of the observing friend, and quietly ask my son why he would do such a thing "I just thought it would be funny to have a yo-yo penis". Ah, yes. Um, well {cough, cough}, ahh...that's a little strange, son. Do not put your yo-yo there, it's for playing outside and having fun". Nervous laugh and look toward the very gracious friend who is finishing her Turkey sandwich to the sound of this odd occurrence. I am silently casting thanks to God she is from a family of twelve, has four of her own and does not seem the least bit phased.

~ During play dates, particularly if I desperately attempt to sneak in an entire, unbroken conversation, I will in no uncertain terms, pay for it. Such as the scene I came out to when I ignored the silence for 3 minutes {and this was taken after the mountain peaks of baby powder had been wiped off the table top} :

~ During the adult conversation I soak up and savor, I see my son standing in the barn door, urinating. He's never done that before. How lovely he decided that today would be his 'pee at the barn door debut'. We ARE civil, we DO teach manners, this is NOT a zoo I want to assure my guests. While I may attempt to express this, I know there is little proof to my claims and my shoulders slump at the obvious truth...I'm no where near "Household Manager of the Year".

~ When a visiting mother is sharing a deeper hurt or profound truth or debilitating experience, I absolutely DETEST inevitably cutting her off with "Hey! Hold that thought!! { about your mother-in-law's dying wish...}" as i dash towards the child who just pushed the visiting child off the swing or change an erupting diaper that's dragging along behind the neglected child.

~Meanwhile, the visiting children are behaving like little angels, intrigued and happily preoccupied with all the 'new to them' toys and trucks laying about.

After all is said and done, and as I am picking up the hurricane debris that I allowed to accumulate for the sake of so-called 'harmony', I find myself thinking 'And this is supposed to be FUN??....people actually LIKE these hell- pardon me- PLAY dates???".

I may be over stating it, but I must insert yet again there has never been a child here who I have been anxious to have leave, never. Honest! The thoughts shared above are simply results of blatantly dashed, unrealistic hopes that I could enjoy a little adult conversation with another treasured friend & mother...and instead I watch as my children unleash behavior that is not customary in a regular routine setting, but brought to radiant light in the glow of a 'play date' {insert deep spine shiver}.

Perhaps if I had a lesser number, or a greater variety of ages, or all older or more 'normal' children these types of events would be a welcome reprieve instead of an exhausting ordeal. Time will tell. But for now, give me an early bedtime for the kiddos, the keys to my mom mobile that magically turns into a hot babe sports car and a destination to a cozy Coffee Shop or chic Chocolate Cafe where a fellow-escapee waits for me to join her in the silence of 'the general public', where we can dip into the luxuriate in the experience of a "Soirée Sanity".

I like the sound of that.