I dread summer. It actually sends me into a panic attack because it means not only scheduling day camp, vacation, and being entertainment central for two little people. But it means, I must procure my kids playdates or have them chase me around the house for two and a half months whining about how bored they are, and who can they play with.
Why is it now my responsibility to hit up the mom dropping off her kid at school for a phone number so my kid can play with hers? And why do I have to call her up like a blind date and beg her to get out her calendar so we can see when Mercury and Venus line up allowing our nine-year-old boys to play Minecraft at their house or ours?
Why does my son hand me the phone number he got off his schoolmate and expect me to call or text this random stranger so our kids can bond? Can’t he dial and ask himself? He did finally figure how to dial the phone this year, for emergencies.
Or why do I have to take to Facebook trying to artfully type up the least pathetic plea to my other mommy friends to schedule a playdate or meet at the park or pool. And then try not to take it personally if they don’t respond. Because honestly, sometimes it feels like if I’m not B.F.F.s with the mom then my kids have a slim chance in hell of playing with her kids.
Because let’s face, if you are not popular in this social media heavy, helicopter parent world we live in; then your kid is not popular.
Unfortunately, the sins of an introverted parent being visited on the poor, innocent child. I literally break out in a sweat at the mere thought of calling up a strange mom to beg her for a play date. Even R.S.V.Ping the old fashioned way via phone makes me feel awkward & 12 again. I'm much better texting or responding to an evite the way nature intended. Social media bring my preferred detached vehicle for talking to those I'm not comfortable with. So I try hard to like other moms posts and strike up inane conversations about calories, and workouts, and popular culture hoping they’ll like me enough so my kid can have someone to play with this summer.
Since, long gone are the days of calling your own friends up on the phone or hell, walking to their house and knocking on the door to ask if “Little Johnny can come outside and play right now”. One because, no one plays outside anymore. The boogeyman, skin cancer, or allergens might get them. And two, no one is usually home but on their way to soccer camp, underwater ballet, or Krav Maga. Or if they are, then their mom or dad needs my phone number, social security number, and blood type and will schedule you in for thirty minutes next July.
I seriously feel like I am pimping out my kids, working hard to make sure they look like the most attractive offer out there. Concealing their proclivity to argue over who gets to be player one or that my oldest is basically an over grown puppy, all impulse & no forethought. Instead, I try to promote Child 1, an outgoing, happy-go-lucky child who loves sports, is computer savvy, and very bright. And Child 2, my artistic, curious, lovable, curly-haired cherub who won't eat all your sweets & open all your crafts.
Because it all falls on me. If I don’t procure the playmates, then they don’t play with anyone but me. And a whole summer of me make Jack a dull boy & mom a raving, snarling lunatic.
My mom had it seriously easy compared to this. She occasionally knew the mother of the kids I hung out with. Usually, I just had to be home at a certain time, and I was free to pop in and out of whoever house. Sometimes, I had to ask her for a ride if it was too far to bike there. So I ran ragged with whomever was on the apartment playground till I was too hot or hungry or tired. I made my own friends judging them on their desire to swing & make mud pies. I would never have even thought about asking my mom to schedule a play date. I mean, how embarrassing!
But like the disappearance of cassette tapes and the ozone layer; free play is a thing of the past. So I must take a deep breath, make a glass of wine or two, and dial the number I’ve been given and try not to sound too desperate or nervous as I ask a perfect stranger for permission for her kid to entertain mine.
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