The Ultimate Goal for Shabbos Afternoon
| November 9, 2021Bewildered parents submit their questions
The ultimate goal in life (as we all know) is to get all of your kids invited out at the same time on the same Shabbos afternoon. And the only way to get this accomplished is to religiously and aggressively invite kids to your house and then hope for — nay, expect — a return invitation. Eventually, your complicated six-part Venn diagram flower will overlap, becoming the Shabbos afternoon nap of your dreams. And yes, it makes all the days where you’re the only adult supervising 14 children, ten and under worth it. But while you’re sowing the seeds, executing a successful playdate is like navigating a minefield while balancing a hot cup of coffee over a white skirt.
I made the grave, grave mistake of taking my baby upstairs to change him, an activity that took a total of 120 seconds, including travel time. I came back to what I can only describe as utter pandemonium, featuring an indoor carnival complete with marshmallow fluff smeared on the chair I just reupholstered, shaving-cream-covered balloons wobbling drunkenly on the floor, and that stupid flour and pennies game, which was obviously invented by a sadist who hated his mother.
You know what was nowhere to be found? The four rascals who quick-changed my dining room into A Mother’s Worst Nightmare. Does the mother of any one of these children owe me a cleaning lady hour?
It’s a cardinal rule of kid hosting to never, and we repeat never, allow imaginative kids to roam free in your house. You know why parents are “forgetting” their kids in your house, right? It’s because they want a chance to clean.
We love a free-spirited kid (from afar) but for safe playdates, invite the less adventurous kids over instead. Consider yourself warned, though: What you’re losing in heart-stopping crashes and soul-crushing messes, you’re gaining in hearing “I’m bored” on loop.
My 11-year-old son has friends who specifically come to our house to hock over what’s on the stove. Every Sunday afternoon you can find an uninvited crew of six of his closest friends sneaking pieces of leftover deli roll when they think I’m not looking. We’re on a budget here. Don’t their mothers feed them? Oh, you’re complaining because you know exactly where your child is, who he’s with, what they’re doing, and why? First world problems, honey. Thank Hashem they didn’t tell you they’re going to Leiby the Listener while really hightailing it over to some sketchy 7/11 with zero supervision. Add “feeding miscellaneous neighborhood children’’ into your budget and lean in.
Am I the only normal person on earth? Last week, I went to pick my daughter up after a respectable two-hour playdate only to be met at the door with a sheepish “I think they went to a neighbor…”
Twenty minutes later, I’d knocked on 15 doors but my kid was actually in the basement of the original house. Oh sure, no sweat. And today, I tried picking up my son from his friend only to find out that his friend’s father took them to a baseball game. Apparently, I was told, but in minute three of a five minute voice note. I’m sorry, but no. Just no.
Well, you might just be the only normal person out there. Sending your kids out into the wild is as much of a gamble as getting into your first-choice seminary without applying to backups. If you manage to find them at all, consider yourself lucky.
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