Everyone loves playdates, but this mommy has to put her foot down in order to keep her bliss intact.
Around the time your child hits preschool age, the playdate becomes a frequently used word in your vernacular. I am a big fan of the playdate. Studies have proven that they improve socialization skills and give children a view of how other people live. I mean, I think it's obvious Paris Hilton never had a good ol'-fashioned blue collar playdate -- well, unless you count the gardener she fooled around with in 8th grade.
OK, I know I am not fooling anyone. I love a playdate because my kid either goes away for two hours or has someone to amuse them at my house. Either way, a win for mommy! Don't get me wrong, I love my children, but then they started to gain their own little whining voices, likes, and dislikes. If I can sucker someone into taking them for two hours, I am in heaven -- literally.
Throughout the years, I have become the queen of the playdate, but there are some very serious rules that go along with these little adventures:
If your little angel still craps in his/her pants, you are always going to host.
If your kid's on your macrobiotic, raw, vegan diet, I am out! OR: If your kid's used to hanging out at Kraft services on a movie set, I am out! I am the mom that puts out a box of Cheez-Its and Capri Suns and tells you to stay outside. Those are your only options, kid. I don't cater.
If your kid has a sibling, they are not automatically a plus-one on the invitation. It's not a two-for-one deal at my house.
No marathon playdates. I have a three-hour limit. After that, you will find your little angel on your porch with a note pinned to his shirt telling you what my favorite wine is.
Reminder: This is a tit-for-tat situation. I take your kid, and then you take mine. This is not negotiable!
And this is the most important of all rules:
- If I invite your little darling to come play at my house, you're not invited as well. I don't want to entertain my own kid, let alone you. This is the reason your angel is coming over. I most certainly do not want you to cop a squat on my couch and tell me why your marriage is not as fun as you thought it would be, and ask what I have to drink around here. (The answer is always top-shelf tequila.) And wake up! Marriage is not fun at all. Now get your ass off my couch -- I have important things to do, like update my Facebook status.