The Art of Picking Playmates

03.23.06

            We have grandma daycare, which is very cool for a variety of reasons, one of them being that it’s really cheap.  The only real problem is that Little Miss never has other kids to play with.

            People talk about play dates, play groups, mom groups and so on and so forth which is great in theory except … I find I don’t like other people very much.

            But I’m trying.  When someone says they have a two year old I immediately size them up for play date potential.  The parent, not the kid, that is.  Cause here’s the thing – I have to go, too.  We’re talking toddlers here – you don’t just drop them off with persons unknown and pick them up later. 

            So here’s what runs through my head:  Is that saggy diaper a cloth diaper?  Am I talking to a co-op geek?  What the heck is a whole food, anyway?  And what’s so special about hydroponic tomatoes?  Will we have anything at all in common, or will this person be just plain out disturbed when they realize I’m a lunatic?

            Will we be able to talk about anything other than how I am single-handedly destroying the earth by using disposable diapers?  Because that’s just not true.  Walmart’s doing that with their “no more than 3 items to a bag” policy. 

            I often meet very nice-looking parents who say, “Wow, look at our kids playing so nice together here at the library.” 

            “Yes,” I say, “cool.”

            “What church do you go to?”

            “Umm…” I say, backing off both mentally and physically.

            “Our pastor is just the greatest,” they continue, “you and your daughter should come to our church on Sunday.”

            “Umm…” I say, backing away a bit more.  I try so hard to keep my mouth shut.  I’m not so arrogant or paranoid as to think any god that may exist should bother with me enough to send good things my way because I prayed – or put wrenches into the workings of my life because I didn’t.  Most the bad stuff that happens to me is my own fault one way or another.  Same with the good stuff.

            Usually what slips out is one of the less interesting things about me;  “I write vampire novels for fun.”  In fact, I’m thinking of getting a t-shirt made so I don’t even have to say it out loud.  I can just wear it and scare the co-op geeks and church freaks away right from the get.

            See how they run.

            Here’s my deal… if I can’t be me around you, then why bother hanging out together?  I have no use for fake-nice chit chat.  I suck at small talk because it’s boring.  I pretty much don’t care what your husband does for a living, or how great your kids are at soccer.  And I don’t want to go to your church.  Church is boring.

            I work hard, live a decent life, and try not to hurt anybody.  I figure if there’s a heaven or a god, that ought to get me in.

            Now, before anybody gets revved up and wants to tap-dance on my head, let me say that I know it’s me and not them.  I’m sure they’re great parents, and will raise fine, upstanding, socially conscious people.  It’s all good.

            And I’ll do okay, too, even though I’m liberal and laid back as faras parenting goes.  I don’t cry over spilled milk and I keep figuring my Little Miss will come around to the whole potty-training thing eventually.

            But man, I’m getting sick of hearing, “Mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy”  8,721,695 times a day.  There are moments when I just want to scream, “MAKE IT STOP!”  We need some play dates of the toddler variety.

            Perhaps there’s hope yet.  I work with a bad-boy turned super-daddy who also has grandparent daycare.  We’re talking about getting our kids together.  I suspect he’s sick of hearing “Daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy daddy”  8,721,695 times a day.

            “You’re not a co-op geek, are you?” I ask.

            “What the hell is that?”

            That’s promising.

            “Are you a Jesus freak?”

            “I am Jesus.”

            That I can work with because obviously he’s a fellow lunatic. 

            We talk about our kids and I when I say I still water down my girl’s apple juice he laughs and says I’m a sugar-Nazi, which gives me a pause because suddenly I’m the conservative parent.  There’s something new.

            I wonder if his son will corrupt my daughter with Mountain Dew and candy?  We shall see.  Corruption isn’t always a bad thing.

 

            Sometimes you don’t like other people.  Sometimes you do.

 

Reader Weekly archive: http://www.readerweekly.us/2006/363/Sheri_Johnson.html