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Archive for February, 2011

I had a good date

Wednesday, February 16th, 2011

I just had a super fun playdate. Okay, technically it wasn’t my playdate – it was Baby #2’s – but the kid’s mom was so cool that I think I might have had more fun than the kids. In fairness, she didn’t try to play with any of my toys, so it was easier to get along. For moms, a first playdate is a bit like a blind date. Sure my friend Beth said she was really nice, I’d chatted with her outside of school, and we’d exchanged e-mails planning the playdate, but now was the moment of truth – how would two hours of idle chit-chat go? It can be kind of hit and miss.

With Baby #1 at the “drop off” playdate age (which causes me anxiety for separate reasons), I had almost forgotten when Baby #2 started nursery school this year that playdates for him once again meant playdates for me. For a finite amount of time, you can select your child’s friends based on which moms you’d like to hang out with…but then kids start developing relationships of their own and you find yourself having to chat uncomfortably for hours with people you have little or nothing in common with (except obviously having kids the same age). It reminds me of a piece I read in the New Yorker years ago about what it would be like if adults were subjected to the same injustices as children. Basically the article joked about how adults would feel if their children forced them to spend time with people who were simply the same age, or if their children forced them to let someone else drive their brand new Mercedes because you have to share. The article suggests that being forced to spend time with people you don’t share anything in common with and sharing your belongings only happened to children – but let me tell you, when you have a two year old, it happens to you too! There are lots of moms out there, and sometimes the single commonality of having given birth around the same time is not enough to carry you through.

There are the “nice” moms, but “nice” turns into boring about twenty minutes in. Although, I’ll take a “nice” mom any day over a nanny. Showing up for a playdate that turns out to be with the nanny is even worse – especially if the nanny doesn’t speak English. A friend of mine is Haitian, with medium dark skin. She once took her son to a playdate where the nanny thought she was Puerto Rican and spoke Spanish to her the entire time. My friend doesn’t speak Spanish.

There are the “super busy” moms who spend the playdate on their phones or computers. But who can blame them…they are super busy.

There are the “perfect moms.” Obviously they are nice, but they are more stressful than the plain old nice moms because they are perfect. They are dressed to the nines – we’re talking hair and make-up – like they must be going somewhere other than the nursery school drop off and the market. Their houses are spotless – they don’t have dogs and shoes must be left at the bottom of the driveway. They offer delectable homemade snacks. They don’t have a single fault so they give me a complex. How do they do it all? Does their day have more than 24 hours? I certainly don’t have time to wash my hair and bake whole grain muffins in the same day.

There are the “over-sharers.” I’m not saying they make their kid share toys more than anyone else…I’m saying when you leave there, you know their financial situation, how their marriage is, what their kid’s morning poop looked like. You get it, it’s classic TMI.

But once in a golden while, there is a “cool mom.” She’s the best, taking little bits from all the other mom types and wrapping them up in a nice package. She’s nice without being boring – good sense of humor is a must. She’s busy in that she doesn’t stay forever because she has places to go and people to see, but she politely puts it aside for a couple of hours. She’s dressed in cute jeans and sneakers with hair in a ponytail and little or no make-up because who are we kidding, a playdate isn’t a night on the town. She shares enough to make you feel comfortable, but thankfully you have no idea when her last period was. This mom is a rare jewel.

What a great surprise that this morning’s playdate was so much fun. It’s like a blind date where you feel a spark. A kind of “oh my goodness, there could be a friendship here,” feeling. But now, like any blind date, as I sit here envisioning future playdates at the park…maybe the zoo?!?…in the back of my head is a distant worry. Will she call again? What if she doesn’t think I’m a cool mom too?

I (sometimes) know the most

Tuesday, February 1st, 2011

I don’t want to brag, but Hubby #1 is fairly brilliant, so it’s always a treat for me when I get an opportunity to be the purveyor of knowledge in our relationship. These moment are few and far between…like that shining day when I knew that the car doors that open away from each other in the opening of Entourage are called suicide doors. That’s right – Mr. Brilliant didn’t know…but I did. Of course when I do offer up some foreign nugget of knowledge, he generally takes to the internet to verify my brilliance rather than blindly accept it, but that’s okay – confirmed victory is almost sweeter. The down side is that when he stumbles upon something he doesn’t already know all about he over-researches and becomes kind of an expert. At this point, he can probably tell you all about the history of suicide door design and manufacturing, what car models they were offered on, and when they were discontinued. That’s okay though because while he may know MORE, I knew FIRST.

This week was another moment for my intellectual superiority to shine. It started when I received an email from my aesthetician. Along with the normal information about specials on dermabrasion facials and chemical peels, she included a reminder to make appointments for Valentine’s Day Vajazzling.

At almost six months pregnant with Baby #3, it’s been a while since I’ve given my nether region much thought. Literally, out of sight – out of mind. Later that night, as I brushed my teeth though, the tastefully vague illustration of a female form with a neatly red-rhinestoned crotch jogged my memory, and so for a brief moment I considered the bling. My focus was more on D-day (as in Delivery) than V-day, and I had a horrible flash of pushing so hard that a small crystal flew off, blinding my OB or injuring my newborn. It was with this ridiculous vision, that I walked back into our bedroom chuckling maturely to myself.

Obviously Hubby #1 was intrigued by whatever was amusing me. By now, I had moved on to the more practical problems of vajazzling, so I shared my confusion over how people deal with the growth related itch conflicting with the jewels. Much to my surprise, he had no clue what I was talking about. In fact, he thought vajazzling was something I was making up! I mean, seriously, could I even come up with that?!? Nonetheless, I quickly realized that this was one of those super special moments when I knew something he did not and I expertly explained what little I knew about vajazzling – hair comes off, rhinestones go on.

By the morning, Hubby #1 was a new authority on vajazzling…and penazzling (I’m sure you can guess what that is), as well as their trampier cousin, the twattoo. Oh well, my moment was over – lasting less time that an elaborate butterfly vajazzle (according to Hubby #1 one of the most popular designs available).