The Art of The Play Date

This week we had a play date at our friend Sarah's house. It's not Say-rah, like my grandmama would say, or Serah, like I would say. It's Sahrah, all airy. She's Brittish and she married a Merican friend of a friend, and they just moved back here from London. Her son and The Boy are a few weeks apart, and she has a daughter a little older than BeYoYo. What could go wrong, right?

admiring a caterpillar 

I realized when we got there BeYoYo only had one shoe. The Boy and The Boy Brit haven't seen each other in over a year. (Last year The Boy told me that The Boy Brit "talks like Harry Potter!") When we pulled up they greeted each other, and then stared at each other kind of like the way dogs smell each other's butts to investigate. After they okayed each other, we all went inside where they explored the myriad of toys that kids have. The Boy thoroughly enjoyed his friend's toys. And also his friend. For awhile The Boy played inside and The Boy Brit played outside. Because they are four and this is how playdates sometimes work. The babies tottled around, generally getting into things and looking precious. The Baby Brit held a toy car and said "cah", and it was the cutest thing in the history of "eva".

It was a long string of herding BeYoYo back in one room or out of another,  putting my hand up to block him from hitting someone with a toy, and making him get down from standing on a table. We'd let the older kids work out their differences, then intervene when it was getting too heated or help to fix a Batman. In the midst of all of this Sahrah and I tried to catch up with each other. "He took a new job....... no, stay in here......as a project manager......oh, look at this.......and he's liking it, as far as I can tell......help me understand what you need.....yes, that is a cah...... Have you been out lately?.....I really like the way you're sharing....." This is a social dance that only parents appreciate.

When the boys starting getting a little irritated with each other Sahrah intervened and said "would you all like a snack? We have some fig bahs if you'd like" and they nearly peed themselves with excitement. The Boy had no idea what a fig bar was, but he couldn't wait. Then when Sahrah produced them The Boy took one, looked at it, and then said to her "these are called fig newtons." I reminded him that The Boy Brit and his family were from London and that we say some things differently. Sahrah told us that The Boy Brit had picked up the term "super awesome" since they'd moved back. I didn't even know that was an American term. It reminded me of one New Year's Eve years ago when I was over served and kept telling Sahrah "say some more words!" Then she'd say loo or lift, and I would bask in her Brittishness.

BeYoYo went to the edge of the play room and made poop face, and soon we could smell the results. So I excused us and changed the foulness. We returned and resumed the social dance of kid, baby, adult talk.

After we'd been there awhile there was some altercation about a train and ALL of the hell broke loose. The Boy lost it. I'm talking screaming, running to another room, thrashing about like a banshee. The Boy Brit just looked at him. The babies continued their babying. I excused myself and went to The Boy and talked to him in THE CALM FIRM VOICE, which was useless. He was so lost in the flood of emotion about the injustice of not getting a train at the exact moment he wanted it that he could not even hear my words. The Boy Brit kindly and calmly tried to offer him a train, but of course that was all wrong, because how dare he offer The Boy exactly what he'd asked for, because four year olds are crazy. I told The Boy that if he did not stop with his fit we would have to leave. And he did not stop with his fit, so we had to leave.

I scooped him up and carried him right out to the car. Over my shoulder I told Sahrah I'd be right back for BeYoYo. I put The Boy in the car, and he was now even madder about our abrupt exit. He screamed "Noooooo! I don't wike you! You're not my mommy anymore!" I told him calmly it was not my job to make him like me.

I went back in and got BeYoYo and his one shoe, and feigned cleaning up a few toys. I apologized to Sahrah about The Boy's behavior and our leaving. Because she is lovely, she said "Oh, don't be sill-aye. This was us just last week." (Really I'm only interested in being friends with people like this, and if you are right now reading this in shock and/or disgust, please do not invite us over for a play date. Because even if my kids are angels chances are you and I may not hit it off). The Boy Brit came outside with us to tell The Boy goodbye, but who can be bothered with the frivolity of salutations when all the injustices of the world have been heaped upon you?

After we left The Boy began to calm down, and when we got home The Husband was cooking dinner. The Boy had to go straight to time out, and seemed generally disappointed in the events of the afternoon. When he came out of time out he asked for me to cut him some cantaloupe. "I'd love to" I said, "but I can't, because I'm not your mommy anymore." This was also my response when he asked for milk and asked for me to put him to bed. PS- Though it may remind him not to say that again, it does nothing to de-escalate a situation. The Husband took over for the night and I went to take a bath. There I texted Sahrah and said "I'm exhausted. He was asleep before 7pm. How do you feel about being in a blog?"

We should get together for a playdate again sometime soon. Except next time let's leave the kids at home. It'll be super awesome.