Stages, Phases and Maturity. And that's just for me...

As well as my lovely playgroups, I belong to a library club, which meets in a town about thirty minutes away from me. I go to this library instead of my local one, because one, this one is free, (and we LOVE free stuff) and two, because there is a groovy chick and mother of two who goes there too. We like to chitchat as the babies race around and then we sometimes go get a pizza afterwards.

The other day I overheard two of the mothers discussing gift ideas for a little three year old who also goes to the club. She was not there that day, and the two mothers were asking each other what they were going to bring to the party and what their girls should wear, etc. I asked, “Oh, is it little Portia’s birthday soon? Is Monica going to have a party?” One mother looked a little funny and said, “Oh, yes, the party is this weekend.” I immediately thought, “Well, golly gee, where’s MY invitation?” and felt inexplicably wounded.

Well, hello, I have 18-month-old boys, who aren’t particularly close to the birthday child, all the invitees are little girls, and I am not especially buddy buddy with Mrs. Monica either. So why should I feel all Junior High School about not being invited? I guess it’s just one of those weird dynamics that happen in any group or club; people will form little cliques within each club, and there really isn’t much anyone can do about it. I myself am in a little clique of me and one other mother in one of the playgroups; we talk every other day, at least, and I actually felt weird NOT calling her over the past holiday weekend, even though there really wasn’t any time to do so. In the other playgroup, I have three “special pals”, and we all tend to congregate around each other and talk at the top of our lungs.

One of these pals, the one who said it’s like Junior High sometimes, was wounded in turn to discover she wasn’t invited to this other party, for another little one, that I attended over two weeks ago. My big trap and I let it out that I had gone to a Gymboree Playtime Place Party and how it was such fun, and how I ran out for a fruit tray and felt all useful and needed, and blah blah. She asked, “When was this?” I said blithely, “Oh, it was for Gwendolyn’s party…eeeek.” Holy Cow, I didn’t even think she may have wanted to go. So then I had to explain how the mother was totally limited as to the number of children she could invite and how the birthday girl wanted to have her chums from her day care and this mother was one of the very first mothers I met in the state with whom I could talk about how difficult this mothering gig can be…my pal gave me a look that said, “I would have rather not known about this.” Whoops.

The great thing about the playgroup world is that everyone knows a little bit about everyone, and we can all celebrate birthdays and other special events together. The bad thing is that everyone knows a little bit about everyone. Such as, when these birthdays occur, and whether there is a party or not, and we need to realize we can’t have everyone over for every party every time. I wonder when I will get to the stage when it’s okay not to be invited? I wonder when I’ll get to the point where I am less “refreshingly open” about what I've been up to? I wonder when I will no longer be a teeny bit hurt if not everyone likes me all the time? I wonder when I’ll follow my boys’ example, and commence with the growing up?

George, any idea?