Playground types and conversations

I go to two playgroups, one on Monday and one on Friday. Some of the Monday parents have also joined the Friday group, and we have infiltrated a Tuesday reading session at a local library as well. There are about ten of us who travel from group to group, from playground to playground, from town to town, hungrily seeking adult conversation, intellectual stimulation and fresh air.

In this group I have registered three parent types: The Hover and Rescue Parent, The Watch and React Parent, and the Oh, He’s Fine Parent. The Oh, He’s Fine parent is generally the one who gets to enjoy comparably lengthy conversations, while the Watch and React Parents find it tricky to finish a line of reason. The Hover and Rescue Parent can’t finish a sentence, let alone a thought. Of course, we are all a bit of all three playground parenting types, depending on our progeny’s activities at the moment. If a two year old is hanging upside down on a playscape labeled AGE FIVE AND UP, Hover and Rescue it is. If a three year old is going down a slide in the TOT LOT – AGE 1 TO 3, Oh, He’s Fine.

In general, I am in the Watch and React Category, especially when I have my peeps, my posse, my friends nearby. There are four mamas, and two daddies, with whom I share enough similarities to feel super comfortable, and enough differences to have fodder for discussion. Of course, having real discussions, with points made and conclusions drawn and everything, usually only happens over a bottle of wine out in a café somewhere. Either that or over the phone, or through the windows of the car, or in a driveway, when we are guarding our sleeping tots. These parents and I act as each other’s village, and we all run interference as needed. It’s lovely to know that I can go to the Porta-Potty in peace and have my babies watched for me, and then go back to a nice chat. We always try to get a talk in, because we find each other so interesting. We have had enough adventures between us to furnish topics for innumerable discussions; enough to furnish a salon, or a living room. (Get it? A salon? Never mind…lame joke...) Well, this group understands that differences of opinion do not a bad person make.

We have had some very interesting conversations lately, or rather; we have begun some interesting conversations lately. I am sure informed parents all over our land are talking about the Supreme Court, the London Transit bombs and the price of organic milk. (Just so ya know, Trader Joe’s Organic Whole milk was about $5 a gallon and at Stop and Shop the Northeast farms’ milk is $4 a HALF gallon. So, well, I mean, THAT’s worth discussing, right?) Unfortunately, as interesting as our conversations can be, we never really get time to finish what we are saying. There is always a toddler to rescue, a fight to break up, a sippy cup to distribute and sun block to reapply. (Yes, I really do reapply sun block after 90 minutes of vigorous play as directed. I really do!) In the past little while, I have started chats about weaning from the breast, sleeping though the night, playing Scrabble with a club, pet insurance, motorcycles, bullwhips, tattoos, swimming pools and toddler safety, new restaurants in the area, housekeepers who quit, lawn care, the Renaissance in England, books, music, blogs, slogs and frogs. BUT, as soon as the interloquation gets weighty, meaty or seamy, depending on what I am discussing with whom, oops! An interruption, and thought process is shut down.

It took me about twenty minutes last week to get out the dramatic Scrabble tale of my 203-point word. Yes, you read that right; I played QUILTERS across two triple word scores, yowza, and knocked the socks off my opponent. As I related this dramatic tale, soon to be preserved in legend and song, I kept having to cut myself off, rush over and help Baby A climb a ladder in order to go down a slide and then rush to Baby B in the sandbox, who naturally wanted the sand shovel another baby had, because it was just soooo much more interesting than the one I brought from home. Exhausting.

There is a mother who comes to the groups occasionally, a sweet lady and a very loving mother, who really never leaves her daughter’s side. The girl has just turned three and is quite active and athletic. Having a conversation with this mama necessitates you be quite active and athletic as well. In just half an hour we can go from sandbox to slide to swings and back. It’s hard to keep talking when you are out of breath!

One of my peeps, a gal pal, had an amazing talk with two consenting adults a few nights ago that left her breathless. They had a little wine, some common ground, and no children in sight. They were able to talk for TWO HOURS without being interrupted or distracted. At the end of the conversation they were all shaky and drained from the sheer volume of words exchanged and the importance of the conclusions reached. I told my friend that it’s called mind sex when it’s really good like that. She got all funny about the fact she has had mind sex with a mutual friend’s husband. I reminded her that it wasn’t anything to get funny about; there was a performance artist involved and several witnesses. Then I thought, oooh, that would make her evening a mental ménage a trios. Or would the witnesses make it be a mind orgy?

Lucky girl. The steamiest mental action I have had lately is via the Scrabble Club, the club where I played my 203-point word. Hey, it was worth repeating! The club has four dedicated members and about seven fringe players. One of the fringe members is a nice guy, who doesn’t talk much. I have played two or three games with him so far. One of the dedicated players told me that the nice guy was asking about me; he asked, "Is she available" and all that. The dedicated said she’d ask me and why, was he interested? "Well, yes," he said, "because she is so hot." Well, well, well. I was rather flattered by that. It’s nice to be a 36-year-old mother of two and still be seen as a hottie. I attribute that, in part, to the fact that by the time the Scrabble Club gets underway I have been away from my boys for several hours. Since they are not yet fully weaned and still nurse five times a day, I am still a milk factory, and therefore, I get “hotter” as the afternoon progresses, if you know what I mean.

I tried to tell that story to somebody at the playgroup today, but bless me if I didn’t get distracted by a baby! Oh well, there’s always Monday, and another discussion to attempt. When the boys are out of house for school I will be so unused to real conversation I’ll probably not know how to talk anymore. “Ha!” those of you who know me are thinking. “There’s no way to keep the MOT from yakking away!” Well, I kind of hope so – I don’t want my train of thought to get derailed; it's hard enough to find time to get it to leave the station.