The Playdate Diaries

Trying to stay sane in my 2-kid world…

Ok, don’t hate me because I have a LIFE… November 20, 2007

Well, well, well… look at what the cat dragged in! Oh, and you too? Anyway, I know I’ve been M.I.A. – can you blame me? Seriously…

Well, I’ve been a bad, bad girl. I’ve been to about 2 playdates without posting anything afterwards. Shame on me… I did visit this site afterwards. I was just too lazy to click the “post now” button.

To do a quick recap of the playdates, I went to two different parks in the same week. I had an awesome experience at the first one, even though there was sand all over the place. If someone wants to play a sweet, sadistic joke on the “fat mom”, that would be it. Trudging through sand after your hyper toddler is just wrong. You can just imagine me ‘running’ through it. Well, I didn’t actually run – to anywhere – but still. The thought alone makes me want to grab another donut. Not to mention the great fun I experienced when I had to bang my sons shoes against the pavement to get all the dirt out. YAY!!!

The second park was also a lot of fun – for the three seconds we were actually there. See, that’s the funny thing about maps and directions. You spend about 30 minutes looking up the location, you click on the conveniently-placed “map to this direction” button, you spend another 15 minutes ogling over the screen… *click* – *click* – *click*…. PERFECT! You print the colored map with its turn-by-turn directions and hit the road like a pro.

Then you get lost.

Where the hell are you? WHY isn’t that little off-road on your map? In fact, where is the main road on your map? SO, needless to say, I got lost. Then I call my husband. What a lapse of judgement on my part. One would figure that a man who spends his workdays on the road would know how to read a map and instruct me on where to go – especially since I backtracked and waited, ever so patient with a 2 year old in the backseat. But no. I had to call a friend from the playgroup who had more knowledgeable sense (aka. NO technical software whatsoever) than my husband with the $1,200 laptop sitting in front of his face and a Google map. Oh yea, I had a BLAST going in the opposite direction everytime I asked my husband where to go! He got the added thrill of hearing me shout ludicrously at him before hearing the dial tone when I hung up on him to call my friend back – three times.

*sigh* …the joys of motherhood. That’s why tonight I’m going solo. Yes, the highly sought-after “parent downtime”, or in my case, the MNO (mom’s night out). I’ll write a post about that later on… I’m sure it’ll be WILD! Anything that requires me looking after a bunch of drunken peers (hee hee hee – you guys know I love you) instead of my own child is sure to be trouble. But oh, what fun! *wink*


Thoughts on being sick… October 30, 2007

I cannot for the life of me explain how the whole process of getting sick works. I mean, not when I’m a stay at home mom. I don’t leave the four walls of my white padded room and get sickenly ill as soon as there’s a really cool playdate to attend. *sniffle-cough-cringe*

So it is with a saddened heart that I sit here on my bed, stuffing my face of the candy I was supposed to take to the playgroup Halloween Party. And I was going to be a sexy witch, too… oh well, I guess the playdate mommies will just have to miss my squeezed, tightly contained flab in my painstakingly searched for costume. Yes, I know, I know… how will they manage without me? 

Ugh… who are you again? What were we talking about? Just leave me be to wallow drowsily in my very existence. I banish you from my sight… be gone with you.


Playdate #7:The Character Meet-n-Greet October 20, 2007

Filed under: today's playdate — L.Gonzalez @ 4:32 pm
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Today we had a mall event where the children got to meet-n-greet with Curious George. The kids all had to be part of the ‘Kidgits Club’ in order to participate. The information sheet states ’20 minutes per child for photos’ blah blah blah… something along those lines. So why is it that when you actually arrive it’s a whole ‘nother story?

I pull into the mall – park the car… the world is peachy keen. Victor gets loaded up into his car seat, I take out a billion items from his diaper bag and place them in the stroller’s basket for easier access, and into the mall we go.

As soon as I walk in, I get a call from one of the other playdate mommies. Seems like there’s a new member there and it’s her first playdate. Since my friend on the phone is running late she asks me to give her a quick call to let her know she’s not alone – basically, that the group hasn’t ditched her. I’m thinking, AWESOME! Another mom. So I give her a call and we meetup by the Kidgits club registration desk. She’s laid-back and all smiles – phew!

More and more playgroup mommies start showing up with their kids and you know, the world is still peachy keen. I swear I checked my son’s stroller a BILLION times to make sure I had taken him out of the car. He was too quiet! Unusually quiet… creepy quiet. Evil plan-plotting quiet…

After having to run to Starbucks, debate with the cashier why I think she should break my $20 without me having to make a purchase, and then turning my back to her coldly and saying “Whatever – I’m not buying anything. This is ridiculous”, I finally find someone who can break my $20 so I can pay the freaking $5 yearly club membership fee. Thank you whoever broke my $20 – I owe you one!

Still chatting away, I unsuspectingly move my conversation to the wait-line. Of course, that was cue for Curious George to need a break. He’d been there for 30 minutes and already needed a 20 minute break. Where’s the elevator music while we stand here like idiots? 

 20 minutes later, our star reappears. I’m chatting away, forgetting my own child is with me because he’s still unusually tranquil. It was hilarious when one of the playdate mommies asked me if I wanted her to turn my child’s stroller so he could be in the picture I was about to take. Oh, what, you mean my child is here? Oh silly me… and I thought I had left him in the car.

I’m outside the play area like the paparazzi, trying to get Curious George to look at me so I can take the ‘perfect’ shot. Of course, as soon as I’m about to take the photo, he always turns the other way. I have a great shot of his left butt cheek, right butt cheek, back, arm… let’s get together sometime and I’ll show you.

Finally it’s our turn. I didn’t want to be in the shot but I had no other choice. Putting Victor down would of been like tempting fate. He would of gone from 0-60 in a few seconds and been all over the play area. That was a tantrum I wanted to avoid thank-you-very-much.

Ok Victor, say bye to George… “Bye bye bye”…

30 seconds later a wild fight broke out. I was in awe, I could harldy believe it was happening. What in the world… why do they allow such things to happen in a mall. I mean, what kind of a world are we living in when a mother can’t even take her child to get a cute little photo with a fake monkey? There was screaming, kicking, a shoe went flying… it’s just a shame that all of it happened to be between my son and myself. Yep, that’s right. It was my ‘angel’ of a child throwing the world’s biggest, most embarassing tantrum.

I’m sure the other mommies loved having their husband’s there. They all got a 2-for-1 special meet-n-greet… one with Curious George and the second with my big breasts almost popping out of my shirt. Hey, if George got $1 per each photo with him, how much do you think I can get for a photo of your husband next to my huge, shirt-popping boobs? I mean, I think $5 minimum per husband is cheap, don’t you? I’ll even pay for your marriage counseling session afterwards. What a steal!

Needless to say, before killing my child in front of the public view, I quickly escorted (aka. clubbed and dragged) him away from the play area into the nearest store. Thank God for the cover of clothes racks.

I’m carrying my 38lb toddler in one arm, pushing a stroller with the other arm, and of course, as soon as we actually reach an area of the store where there are other people present, my son decides it will be fun to test my patience by slapping me in the face. How far do you think a 38lb toddler can go flying? Hm… Of course, before I even say anything to him, the mall-starers are already looking at me like I’m the world’s worst mother. How dare I let my child cry like that… tsk tsk.

I reach the restroom and I’m relieved. Phew. No witnesses. Let me just say that I’ve never seen a restroom clear out that fast. I swear those women piled out of there faster than if “Smelly Betty” had the runs and the toilet had clogged up and started overflowing with crap. No pun intended.

I left the mall as quickly as humanly possible, loaded up Victor and all his stuff, and sped away like I’d stolen something. Wait, did I load Victor?

The boy did not make even ONE sound all the way home. Not one. No crying, no sudden movements, nothing. How lovely. My little demon all of a sudden becomes Mr. Doesn’t-Hurt-a-Fly-Perfect-Little-Angel.

I feel like I’m Lois Griffin, mother to Stewie from ‘Family Guy’. Damn you, vile woman, you’ve impeded my work since the day I escaped your wretched womb!

george.jpg  stewiegriffin-familyguy.jpg  curiousgeorgepolaroid.jpg


My romance-novel life… October 19, 2007

Filed under: it's all about ME — L.Gonzalez @ 9:15 am
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Somehow I don’t know how I got here, but when I think about life as a romance novel, I quickly realize that in the beginning we could only be described as follows:

  • Victor Luis (my husband) – a devilishly handsome rake with a comedic disposition, a sly smile, and roaming eyes. He’s never still in hopes of evading responsibility.
  • Linnette (myself, of course) – an untamed beauty of pure innocence, lady-like in disposition although stubborn, persistant, and with a hellfire attitude. Her zest for life is unmatched.

I guess our roles changed because now we have been cast as something totally different:

  • Victor Luis (my husband) – a reformed rake who realizes his lust for women could never compare to his one true love, although let me tell ya’, that up until recently, he would re-test that theory
  • Linnette (myself, of course) – innocence gone and emotions worn. Although she still loves her handsome rake, she has subdued herself into a certain role of weary familiarity. Hellfire attitude still intact, but somewhat tamed.

Now… if only I could bring back that innocence, wouldn’t life just be grand? I guess I can add two bouncing baby boys into that mix. And probably a crazy mother in law and some over-bearing / well-meaning parents to boot.


You want to read MY book? October 16, 2007

I’ve been getting a lot of messages from people telling me I should write a book. Apparently I’m a literary genius – right up there in between the world encylopedia and the infamous little black book I’m sure…

Who wants to actually pay for something that comes out of my mouth? Can you imagine all the people I’m going to offend? Hm. Perhaps that will be the attracting factor.

My poor mother-in-law, otherwise known as ‘Mother-Theresa-of-drug-addicts-and-prostitutes’ would be the main target. What? I’m not being offensive… I’m only talking about her children. They, of course, would subsequently also be offended – and probably jailed.

I guess I’d have to take on a literary name of sorts. How exciting! What should my literary name be? They always have initials…

I can already see the skeptical reviews talking about how I’m just completely crazy – a ranting lunatic? *smirk*

“We fear for the lives of this self-absorbed mother’s children. A stay at home mom who is ultimately bored and looking for attention…” Ha ha ha! Well, I guess it’s true what they say – expect the worst but hope for the best. *wink*


If you’re one of the childless few…

Filed under: ranting lunatic — L.Gonzalez @ 10:16 am
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…you may have noticed that every single mom has a secret code language – a creative form of communication specifically tailored to their individual child(ren). Even within the same parental structure, the secret language is special, unique, and varied amongst siblings. Don’t believe me?

Let’s look at the word “baba” for example. Some parent-child structures would use this term to mean “milk” or “bottle”. But, you will find that “baba” can also mean “pacifier”, “baby”, a sound a sheep makes, or whatever else the child might want to dub the term of “baba”.

Why the quick lesson? Well, because it leads me to my main point of today’s post…

I have NO clue what the hell most kids are talking about half the time. I would love to know what they’re talking about, might even understand half of what they’re saying, but that’s only because I’m a mother now. Let me tell you that when I was single and presented with a human of the little kind, I had absolutely NO clue what to do with “it”. I understand various words in the german and french language. I can decipher anything italian if it’s said slowly enough… hell, I can even understand my dog barking better than a child with the “secret language”.

So anyway, since you were all single at one point or another in your life, maybe you understand this whole phenomena as much as I do. I mean, what the hell is little Billy Bob talking about “I want dinty!”. Or Mary Sue asking for her “weeble-wop”. WHAT?! This is why the ‘mother’ is the world’s best known spectacle. Isn’t that why everyone seems to stare at us like we beat our children whenever they open their mouths to scream or throw a tantrum? It’s the same when our child speaks.

The truth of the matter is that most childless people have NO clue what your child is talking about – or why they are talking to them for that matter. It’s always so amazing to see a mom say… “Oh, you want your diaper changed, a bottle, and a nap?” after their child comments it’s time for “dinty”.

So anyway single people… contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t always this care-free and nonchalant about having children. I mean, I’ve always wanted children – ever since I was a little girl playing with dolls I knew one day I’d have my own sweet, wonderful, perfect little angels. That didn’t mean I knew what to do with a little human in front of me screaming bloody murder for “dinty”. I’d get all panicked and start naming the only 3 things I knew a child could possibly want out of life… “You want food? You hungry? Diaper? Are you dirty? Where’s your mom?”

I was the single person who never knew what to say to your child. I quite literally felt the same as if I had been standing at a middle school dance with the guys all standing on one side and the girls across the room. You shuffle your feet… look blankly across the room… wonder when and if someone’s going to come claim you (or in this case, the child in front of you)… you’re nervous… you don’t know what to say… you’re basically a big pile of mush just waiting to be herded off to another corner of the room.

So yes, I emphatize with you childless few who have to listen to my toddler screaming bloody murder for his “yoyo” and you have no clue that he’s not actually talking about a toy. All I can say is that one day you’ll just know. For now, you have to put up with these secret languages only a mother can understand.

By the way, I was also known as “Mrs. Get your Child away from me”, “Mrs. What in the world is he talking about?”, “Mrs. Talk to all kids 5 and under like if they were idiots because there’s NO possible way a little person like that can really comprehend what I’m saying”, and most important of all… “Mrs. If you’ve got kids there’s NO chance I’m dating you”. *sigh* Oh, how ignorant I was…


Playdate #6: The Pumpkin Patch October 15, 2007

Filed under: today's playdate — L.Gonzalez @ 10:48 pm
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OMG – I have never been to a pumpkin patch before! (And for the record, I’ve never carved a pumpkin either, but we’re not talking about my childhood inadequacies right now). I’ve passed by dozens of patches – all perfectly laid out and colorful – but I’ve never actually ventured through one. I always see the cute photos other people take of their kids. What is it about fresh pumpkins, some grass, and a clear sky that can make any photo turn out absolutely beautiful?

So yea, this playdate was another one for ME – of course. You already know the drill… I was so excited to be doing this playdate that I think I would have gone without the kids if they had gotten sick. Let their dad deal with it all – he needs to learn how to take care of both of them all by himself like I do every single day.

So anyway, the playdate consisted of a storybook reading, some pumpkin’ pickin’ and decorating, plus TONS of photo ops. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I don’t know who’s hilarious idea it was to create ‘the playdate’ scheme. There were at least 15-20 moms there and I’m sure I only talked to about 5 women total. The same women I’ve talked to at every other playdate. In actuality though, were there more than 5 women? Or was I so busy taking photos and watching my lil’ man run by that everything became a blur and my eyes started playing tricks on me?

When the storybook reading started, everyone sat down on the laid out blanket… everyone except for my lil’ man. Of course, my son has to be different from everyone else. Ok, let’s call it what it is – he’s one of the trouble-makers of the group. My friend’s son wandered off into the patch and of course – BIG surprise – my son quickly followed suit. So my friend and I are watching our little ‘delinquents-in-the-making’ heading off by themselves… HELLO! Remember us? Your moms? Why are we following you around? Shouldn’t you be liste- oh, what? Man! We missed the titilating, thought-provoking story… might as well take some pictures then…

Let me tell you that I feel like paparazzi at our playdates. The twisted part is that I’m actually the target. “Ok, turn this way – NO, WAIT! …ok, hey baby… VICTOR! hi! hello? …come back over here real quick, I want to get a nice pictu- VICTOR! NO! We don’t hit other people! …put the pumpki- VICTOR LUIS! I said NO! omg… hey girl, will you hold my camera real quick while I run down my kid and tackle him? Thanks, I owe you a tackle…”

And for the record, can I just point out real quick that when you ask a question and the other person keeps walking by you like if they didn’t hear you, people start thinking that you’re really losin’ it. Wait. Isn’t blogging the same thing?

OK, so moving on… we did the photos, the running around after the kids… now it’s time for the REAL fun to begin! We went into the microscopic-pumpkin patch (how cute! I feel like I’m easter egg-hunting) to select our pumpkins. My son had absolutely no interest in the whole activity besides throwing the pumpkin around. What a safety hazard! He could have hit another little kid. So I did what any other mother would do in a situation like this. I picked my own two pumpkins for my kids and then ran to get the stickers to decorate it. Gimme’ gimme’ gimme’! Where the hell is the sticker lady? OMG – did I just say ‘hell’ in a church pumpkin patch? Uh oh… where’s my kid?

I had such a blast running to all the possible photo op locations after that. I took pics of my kid, my friends kid, unknown kids, big kids, little kids, mommies… the best was when I had my picture taken like if I were a scarecrow. What fun!

We let the kids run around a bit more, trying to tire them out before getting back into our respective vehicles, and I struck up a conversation with one of the playdate mommies who had brought me a free Bebe Pod seat for my little one. WOO HOO! You mean I get to place him in that seat thingy and get a break from holding him? Amazing what modern-day inventions allow the chic mom to do huh? I mean, 50 years ago, who’d of thought that you could actually get something done throughout the day by using a lil’ plastic-seat? Hm. Why didn’t I think of that? I guess I can put away my duct tape now…

The kids all got a little treat bag filled with a mini bag of pretzels, a plastic kazoo-like thing, a mini bag of gummies, and a coloring page. My husband and I ended up eating the gummies – and the pretzels subsequently ended up all over my bedroom floor after I tried to get my son to eat them.

But back to the playdate. I promised one of the mommies I’d take my weight watchers information with me so she could use it and come to find out when I’m there talking to her that I forgot the instruction manual. Talk about being ditzy. And I had even written it down to remind myself too. Tsk tsk. I guess I have to plan my days with a little more ‘self-guidance’. Remember to eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Brush hair. Shower – wait, not in that order. Shower first then brush hair. Take weight watchers book to playdate. Remember to take 2 kids and do a head count to bring back 2 kids – personal resemblence to me IS important…

P.S. shame on you for not calling the cops after what I said in my last post… it’s been MUCH longer than 2 days. What kind of friend are you? Hmph. That’s right… walk away. I want you to go to your bedroom and think about this. The nerve…

pumpkins2.jpg  8.jpg  victorhispumpkin.jpg  t-seventeen.jpg  p-kinpatch.jpg