I make no secret of the fact that, generally speaking, I have a very low tolerance for OPK*. This was ever so apparent today when I found myself literally hiding behind my bedroom door, then peering through the crack to see the OPK, then tip-toeing into my ensuite and closing the door. Just to make it even more embarrassing (hey, what are blogs for?), I then sat on the toilet fully clothed and read the Sunday paper, so when said OPK wanted to talk to me, I was far too "busy" to talk to her.
You all need to digest that for a minute. I hid from a 10 year old child. In my toilet. If it weren't so pathetic it might even be funny. Actually, it's funny as hell.
Contrast this with the fact that my daughters went to separate play dates yesterday. When I picked up DD1, she came out smiling with a whole bunch of clay figurines and other art projects they had made. When I went to pick up DD2, not only were they in the middle of a feast of a lunch (no lie), the other daughter of the house had HER friend over, too...and one set of girls had made home made play dough while my DD and her friend made cookies from scratch.
Excuse me while I throw up.
I spent my play date today hiding from the kid we invited over, secretly wishing they would not ask the dreaded, "What should we do NOW? We're bored!" and then fed them all 2 minute noodles (for which I was soundly praised.)
The funny thing is, I always wanted to be one of those mothers that had a million kids in the house always coming in and out, always raiding the fridge, and in general ruling the "cool house" where all the kids wanted to hang out. In reality, with a couple of exceptions, I don't want OPK here at all. It's not that they are not nice kids or anything. It's more that, by the time I get to the weekend, all I really want to do is sloth around and relax. I don't want to have to get up early. I don't want to have to get dressed, serve anyone any meals (although I choose to, it's a choice. I'm pretty sure if I didn't bother to feed an OPK that would kinda destroy my already precarious reputation with the mothers of the SSOTH*). I also don't want to act all gracious and hostess-ish and nicey nicey June Cleaver like that, and you can bet your ass I don't want to be doing craft projects of ANY kind. Plus some kids come over and seem to require actual entertainment all the time, and look to ME to provide that entertainment.
I'm perfectly honest here, it's not all that easy for my kids (when all 3 of them are home) to break their unspoken bond and allow another kid into the fold. They are all so used to either entertaining one another, or entertaining themselves, that it's not so easy for them to incorporate another person. So if the OPK cracks it about something, or just isn't a happy camper for some reason, my kids will tend to shrug their shoulders and go back to doing whatever they were doing. It kinda doesn't occur to them that they should come out of their comfort zone and do what THAT kid wants to do (and I'm not THAT shit of a parent that we have not talked about this. We have. It's just that old habits die hard.) So it's not all that unusual to get a, "emzee? DD1 and DD2 are not including me in their game!" complaint, or "emzee? DS and DD1 aren't speaking to me!" and then I need to go and run interference.
I'm shit at running interference, too - because what I really want that OPK to do is either suck it up or just leave so I can go back to being a sloth.
Call me crazy but I'm pretty sure not liking OPK, wishing they would all just shut up and go away, and in general feeling quite anti-social most weekends means I'm never going to be the "House of Cool" Mum that I imagined myself to be.
Damn.
Yet another parenting plan gone to hell in a handbasket when faced with grim reality. Well, at least it'll be quiet in here when all my kids go to the house with the Cool Mum living in it. Wonder how long it will be before she (she being mythical Cool Mum), is hiding in her toilet, calling me on her mobile phone and whispering, "Can you smuggle me in some Valium through the window?"
On second thoughts, I think I quite like being Sucky-At-Play-Dates Mum.
* OPK= Other People's Kids
*SSOTH = Shmancy School On The Hill
Sunday, July 17, 2011
I Suck At Play Dates
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
3 comments:
Now I know I don't have a blog but well, I could swear those are all my words I just read there. Truly, you are not alone in hiding in the toilet with reading (or in my case knitting) to avoid OPK - you are not!
I'm lucky in that the most common OPK here are the neighbors kids and they don't seem to ask for my help - I think they long ago realized I'm in hiding. But boy do I dread any of the other visitors - I'm just thankful that my younger son, who is the needier kid, has a best friend whose mom is more than happy to have him at her house most of the time since her kid has no siblings close in age and is lonely.
And yes, i dreamed of being the house where all the kids hang out - but when they do it, i need hours of recovery time (if not days!).
I suppose its good we are on different continents so our kids aren't friends - otherwise they'd just have to wander the streets together :)
Actually, your reply has made me wonder what other sorts of things parents are doing in toilets while their kids are playing. Reading the paper, knitting...it's like there is a whole secret world! :)
I laughed at the idea of a whole bunch of kids wandering the streets while the mothers and fathers are in hiding - I love being a Mum, but there are some aspects of it I don't love so much. Hanging out with OPK is definitely one of those!
-em
Hey! Nothing wrong with hating other kids over. Or then I would be wrong too. And we both know I am never wrong! To me, that is why you had your three kids, and I had my four. You created your own play mates for your own kids. If those snotty only children don't have play mates? Not my problem. I make the exception of the rule, I will look after friend's babies...in fact I have one right now. Excuse me whilst I go check on the kid I dumped in front of the tv about an hour ago....
Post a Comment