Anatomy of a Play Date

Giggles erupt from the other room. I smile, loving the sound. Emmy is having a playdate with one of her preschool friends while Lily is at school.

A playdate isn’t necessarily a break for Mommy. I often think it will be, but in this case I am making lunch or bringing out yet another activity. I love how Emmy’s guest exclaims at every “new” toy she sees, “I didn’t know you had THIS!” as though it is the most wonderful toy she has ever played with.

Four year olds have an amazingly short attention span. I stop what I am doing to look for the mate to a sparkly dress-up shoe. I never find it. I can’t find a matching pair of dress-up shoes ANYWHERE. How can this be? My daughters have every single pair of princess dress-up shoes ever made, including Tinker Bell slippers. (I don’t really consider Tinker Bell a princess, but Emmy inform me that Tinker Bell is a fairy princess.) Fortunately, our guest has no problem with wearing a blue Cinderella shoe on her left foot and a yellow Belle shoe on her right.

We stop playing to eat lunch. They are done with their mac ‘n cheese and carrot sticks before I even have a chance to sit down with them.

I change the batteries to a walking dog; I bring out musical instruments for a “princess parade,” and then, after they each scarf down a sprinkle-covered cupcake, we go outside.

I think I will be able to sit on the porch and relax, but I am needed. I put on bike helmets, take off bike helmets, get out scooters, pull a wagon, and bring out bubbles.

A whirl of activity surrounds me. Just as I sit down, they make the request to go back inside to play for the last few minutes of the playdate. I get back up.

I am smiling as I write this post; Emmy’s friend has gone home, and Emmy is resting as she watches Clifford, the Big Red Dog. I think about the future. How long until there are two teenaged girls giggling up in Emmy’s room? How long until the word “playdate” will disappear and “hanging out” will replace it?

I don’t dread those days; they will just be different. But will I long for these four-year-old days again? Maybe. I also like to think I will relish those teenage days ahead just as much as I relish these four-year-old days that will soon be behind me.

Simple BPM
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A Mother’s Prerogative

My daughter was sick this week. Actually, both my daughters were sick, but my oldest felt fine. It was my youngest, my Emmy, who suffered from the strep they both had contracted.

My poor baby was having a lot of pain from the strep. She had had her first dose of antibiotics, and the Tylenol I gave her at dinnertime helped her fall asleep. But then at 10:30 that night, she became restless. I brought her some more Tylenol, but she pushed it away.

She didn’t want to be awake; she wanted to be asleep. She keep tossing and turning; refusing to take the Tylenol I offered her; refusing to snuggle with me.

Finally, finally, she swallowed the thick pink liquid, but by now the pain had gotten away from her. She started screaming and crying so I took her downstairs. What could I do with this child? I felt so upset that she had such pain that I almost burst into tears.

I snuggled with her in a blanket and sat on the couch with her. I turned on an episode of Clifford that I had recorded. Her favorite show. The big red dog distracted her from the pain she was feeling.

I sat and snuggled with her in the middle of the night, watching TV. Not something I would normally do with my three year old child.

When she started feeling better, I was able to put her in her bed. She slept soundly for the rest of the night. The antibiotics did their job, and now she is feeling much better.

Sometimes, a mother just has to break the rules. And that’s a mother’s prerogative.

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