Grown Up Stuffs

– 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.


5 thoughts on “Grown Up Stuffs

  1. I also live in a neighborhood that I feel comfortable going for a walk in at night while leaving my house unlocked. It’s always been this way, everyone knows everyone and I’ve never really given it a second thought. However, all it takes is one instance to jolt you back to reality that your bubble can be burst by one psycho. It sounds like you do all you can do and your kids are wise to the Stranger Danger.

    As for the paper cut, I totally think that qualifies as workmen’s comp and you can go home for the rest of the day. If that works out for you, let me know. I punctured my hand with a staple remover and wouldn’t mind leaving myself…

  2. Our neighborhood is freakishly old school. Kids between the ages of 5 and 16 play outside all day every day. we know most of our neighbors. One of them cut our grass for us two weeks ago when my lawnmower went down. another one helps us find Buddy the golden retriever who got loose and lost looking for pizza.

    Your advise on stranger danger (great band name – can i use it for my Helene story?) is spot on.

    • Ours is the same, even though my family pretty much sticks to ourselves. We’re the hermits of the neighbourhood, but the rest is exactly as you describe. Although, we do have the little boy next door over to bounce on our trampoline sometimes, despite me rarely leaving the house and never to socialize with the neighbours. We’re just all pretty trusting and seemingly trustworthy, I suppose.

  3. I have a social anxiety disorder too so I can totally relate. I go bat shit crazy making sure my house is perfect in every single room before any one comes over and I also dread the small talk! AGH. it’s so torturous. I always end up looking like an idiot and thinking stuff after the conversation of what I should or could have said…like….”God Carrie, why didn’t you ask them how their day was after they nicely asked you?” Etc. lol.

    And I just found out that a neighbour was a fugitive from the United States (I live in Canada) who was given 169 years for child molestation. He lived freaking 3 doors down, in our town house complex!!!! He was caught when trying to fly to Mexico or some crap for a vacation.

    but as you said lol…my kids and I never leave the backyard either….social anxiety disorder to the rescue?!

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