– Eirinn had a friend over for a playdate this weekend. It was her very first independent playdate (not with a child of a friend of mine) and as anyone who read my FB status on Saturday knows, the hours leading up to a playdate for a mother with social anxiety is torture. My house wasn’t clean enough, what if she had snack allergies, what if the other mom wanted to come in and chat, what if she wanted to stay, what if she cancelled and devastated Eirinn. I spent the entire morning cleaning for a 5 year-old while my mind raced between panic over parental small talk and calling to cancel, using a fake illness as an excuse. But, as with most cases, my anxiety was a lying bastard and everything went fine. The father dropped Eirinn’s friend off with nothing more than an introduction and a check on pick-up time, the kids spent their time bouncing on the trampoline or playing with dolls in the playroom, and, as Chelle said in an effort to calm my frazzled nerves, 5 year-olds don’t see messes.
No matter how hard I try to talk myself out of it, I can never relax at the thought of interaction. I almost feel silly for being nervous about a child’s playdate. Almost. There could have been small talk.
– Speaking of small talk, upon pick up the father did chat a bit while Eirinn’s friend got her coat and shoes on. He mentioned that just a few houses away from ours, a man had tried to pick up the little girls playing in their front lawn. Did the old “want some chocolate?” trick that we’ve been warned of for decades. Luckily and thankfully, the girls were smart enough not to go with the man and a short time later he was caught. I can not stress to you enough how scary this is to a parent and how unusual this is for my neighbourhood. I live in a very, very good area. Not particularly affluent or posh, but it is what could be discribed as ultra-suburban. And also, usually, incredibly safe. I wouldn’t think twice about walking through our streets alone at night. There are young families in nearly every home and those who aren’t are grandparents. There are approximately 60 police officers of varying ranks and divisions that live in these homes. That pervert and his candy van didn’t stand a chance. But I suppose it’s not advertised about the dense concentration of law enforcement and on the outside ours looks like any other subdivision.
This, along with the crippling social anxiety, is exactly why our kids only play in the backyard. If we’re out front, they can be, too, but if we’re not, they’re not. We’ve spoken to them before about Stranger Danger, but we went over it again on Saturday afternoon. NEVER talk to a person you don’t know. NEVER, EVER go with someone you don’t know and ONLY go with someone who isn’t mommy or daddy if mommy or daddy say it’s ok. NEVER, EVER, EVER take anything from a stranger. And if someone tries to take you, scream. Keep screaming. Yell “YOU’RE NOT MY DADDY!”, “SOMEONE HELP ME!”, and “HE’S STEALING ME!” If you’re able to get away, find a parent or a police officer and tell them right away what happened. But most importantly, never play outside where mommy or daddy can’t see you.
These are scary, scary times we live in, even when we live where we believe we’re safe. There are some sick, demented people out there, even in our own neighbourhoods.
– On a lighter note, Eirinn has her first loose tooth. She isn’t nearly as excited as I am. When I was a kid, at the first inkling of tooth movement, I’d be wiggling that thing until I could pull it free. Puddles of blood ensued, but I’d have that tooth out lickity split (yeah, I just said that). I’d bend it back and forth in my mouth, way beyond what it was ready to do. I’d twist it and push it with my tongue and I wouldn’t stop until I could feel the sharp, rough edges of the tooth’s undercarriage. Eirinn, on the other hand, keeps forgetting that it’s loose. I don’t think she even wiggles it at all unless I ask her if it’s still loose. Pretty sure I’ve wiggled it more than she has. I would have had it out by now.
Admittedly, I’m completely jealous. When I lost my first tooth, it was right before class pictures and my mom was less than impressed when she received the proofs and there I was, jutting my bottom jaw out, showing off my fresh vacancy where once a tooth stood. I love a loose tooth. Eirinn, on the other hand, is overwhelmingly apathetic about the whole thing altogether.
– I got a paper cut this morning. But not just a paper cut, a paper cut from cardstock. Ever had one of those? Where it squirts blood all over your office while you desperately search for a band-aid before you faint from the agony? Yeah, me neither. But it DID bleed and it DID hurt like the Dickens (I really am 80 years old today, aren’t I?).
Aaaaanyway, that’s all I’ve got for now. I didn’t even really need to tell you about the paper cut, but it’s making typing pretty difficult, what with the giant bandage on my middle finger because I couldn’t find a finger tip one, so it’s pretty much all I’m thinking about right now. NOW you know.