Socializing, 2.0

Mixing and mingling and small talk have never exactly been my thing, since I'm the introverted type who won't open her mouth without having something specific to say, and since my extra-low voice won't carry in large groups. I'm pretty sure both of my kids could out-shout me at this point. Not that I'm telling them that.

But I realize I have to step it up a little and be more social, being that we live in a new area where we don't know people, and being that the kids our kids are in school (day care) with are probably the ones they'll be going through kindergarten/first grade/etc. with, so now would be a good idea to make friends with them. Which, I've realized, at least partially depends on me making friends with the other moms. Because 21st century/changing gender norms/more involved dads doesn't mean jack when it comes to preschool world. Moms still rule.

So I've actually been pretty eager to go to all the birthday parties kiddo gets invited to, even if I'm not sure he actually plays with or likes the birthday child in question, because he gets used to hanging around the other kids and I hang around the moms (and the occasional dad).

It's been going fairly well. The other parents seem nice. Although I hate to admit to them that I think of them as "Soandso's mom" or "Suchandsuch's dad" because I still don't know their first names. I so, so hope they're doing the same thing with me.

The real test, I figured, was kiddo's own birthday. Would any of his classmates show? Would it go well? Would my goodie bags stack up to the other goodie bags (because man, do these things get elaborate)? Would the parents be happy or annoyed if we didn't serve pizza?

The answers were yes, yes, I think so -- judging by the gleeful shouts as the kids peeked inside -- and happy, I think, since a fair number of bagels got eaten and the cream cheese was entirely devoured.

It was kind of a funny mix of classmates, one or two younger siblings of classmates, friends of ours and their kids, and assorted family members. The kids were instantly entertained because it was at a kiddie play place and they were let loose to run around and climb and lob balls at each other in the ball pit. These places are the best. The first time we went to a kiddie birthday party at one of these places, we thought, an hour and a half party? What a rip! But now we are older and wiser and know that that is the perfect length of time for a small child's party, so parents can get their kids up and out before they get too whiny or bored or before the sugar crash sets in. Besides, you don't have to clean anything up. Bonus.

So the kids are running around and it occurs to me, as the de facto hostess of this shindig, I should "mingle." I don't think I ever passed Mingling 101 but I think I performed adequately. I talked to one group of moms about the upcoming parent-teacher conferences, I checked in with our friends and their kids, I talked to a few other moms. I made jokes. Really, it was like I was social or something.

Most embarrassing moment: Being five minutes late to our own party. It takes forfreakingever to get everyone out of the house on a normal day. When you're also toting a very large cake, a bag of goodie bags, bagels, Goldfish and fresh fruit? Forget it. And that was with the grandparents helping.

Most adorable moment: When kiddo's bestest buddy from school waited outside the play room for us because he refused to go anywhere until he had personally handed me kiddo's gift.

Most secretly hilarious moment: When one of kiddo's girl buddies was in the ball pit with him, and they were climbing up onto the ledge on the side and jumping into the balls. I guess he was taking too long, because she shoved him right off the side and then jumped in after him. Oh, he is going to be ruled by girls. I can see it now.

Most idiotic thing I could possibly have done: Giving them noisemakers. I have no idea what I was thinking. Because of course the girls working the party put one out at each plate, and as soon as the kids came into the food room and saw them, the room was filled with HONK HONK HONK for the rest of the party. "What did you do?" one mom mouthed to me. "I'm so sorry," I mouthed back. You'd think they would've eased up once they started eating, but you'd be wrong. (C, dryly: "I understand the geese are migrating early this year." Heh.) One little girl actually started crying, and I thought, oh great. The noise hurts her ears. Then her mom came over and explained she was upset because her noisemaker didn't work, and did I have any more? I didn't think so, but checked again and indeed yes. I gave it to the girl and all the moms around her applauded so she would stop crying.

I even apologized to a couple of the moms individually about the noisemakers, but they said, eh, don't worry about it. We'll "accidentally" lose it on the way home. Resourceful!

So now I just have to write a bunch of thank you notes for the lifetime's worth of Matchbox and Hot Wheels kiddo is now the proud owner of, and then moving on.

Well, sort of. We have another birthday party next weekend.

What do I need to do, tie cans to my back bumper?

Got rear-ended once again, at the Somerville Circle -- AGAIN -- while heading back from a lovely birthday party (well done, C). I swear to you, at exactly the same spot I last got hit at this circle a few years back. I slowed down to check for oncoming Rt. 28 traffic, and bam! Because apparently slowing down at these things is so passe.

Granted the Somerville Circle is at least the eighth circle of hell, right there with the Lambertville Circle and other Horrible Places to Drive Through in New Jersey (other spots: the Turnpike at the 8A merge, Rts. 4 and 17 during rush hour or Christmas shopping season, the "spaghetti bowl" in Wayne where a bunch of highways converge for no rhyme or reason, the Parkway, oh, anytime). The nice cop who came to take our reports admitted as much: "It's the traffic circle. This happens a lot." In fact we had to wait a while for him to show because the department was already dealing with another accident further down the same road. Fortunately we had goodie bags to keep us busy while we waited. Unfortunately, the Chinese yo-yos did not survive the encounter. Ah well.

The last time I got rear-ended there, it was such a small bump and so clearly no damage that the other driver and I shrugged it off and left. This time, a harder BUMP. I didn't see damage but I did see the imprint of her license plate on my bumper, plus I was livid that someone had hit my car with my children in it, so after jumping out and having a minor hissy fit at the other driver (who, to be fair, also had a small child on board), I called the cops.

I'm assuming he wrote her up or whatever, though I haven't checked yet. The car seems OK (the imprint, or what we were referring to as the car's tramp stamp, seems to have washed off in the rain), and frankly it's so old that angsting over its appearance is a little bit overkill.

But these still aren't the only times I've been rear-ended. Once on my way to work, and again no damage, but the other driver -- who was already freaked about the job interview he was heading to -- was nice enough to give me his info just in case I noticed something later. I didn't.

Once again on my way to work, this time right after dropping kiddo off at day care, this time bad enough to require repair work. Idiot girl was driving parent's car, wasn't paying attention, didn't notice the light was red, blamed the sun for being in her eyes. So wear sunglasses, genius.

And most memorably, one whale of a smashing-into in South Jersey, about a week after we'd confirmed I was pregnant with kiddo. I mean the car (DH's, that time) was undrivable. I'd been applying makeup before we got to our friends' house, and the compact flew out of my hands. (I found it later under the back seat.) After I caught my breath, I jumped out of the car and yelled, "I'm bleeping pregnant, you bleeping bleep bleep!" at the idiot teenager until DH convinced me to get back in the car. The kid cowered in his (smashed-up) car and called out, "Sorry!" "Bleep you!" I said. Not my most mature moment, but considering the kid had fake insurance and we never did get that deductible back, I don't regret it. Bleeping kid.

I just don't get it. Is there some irresistible force of attraction between chronically distracted drivers and my car's rear end? Did someone glue some magnets down there when I wasn't looking? Should I get a big bumper sticker that says "DON'T HIT ME"?

Some would say the problem is that New Jersey drivers can't drive. Except that they can't drive in Florida, New York, D.C. or Boston either. Or anyplace else I've been, ever. Except Nantucket, because there just aren't as many drivers -- island -- and you can't really gun it on cobblestone streets anyway.

So I don't know. I'm glad our family's latest car misadventure was so much less serious than the last one. But none of this convinces me I should ever like cars.

Now a hovercraft, that would be cool.

The mighty kiddette

We have the crib immobilizer and no free time with which to install it, on account of you have to take the drop side off entirely and insert these metal things into the frame and do some other arcane things that obviously I am letting DH do because tools and hardware and instruction manuals make me zzzzzz. But, you know, we have it so that should count for something or other. Maybe a half-point.

In the meantime, kiddette is developing some Supergirl qualities. She's tough enough to giggle it off when her brother accidentally pushes her over (again). She's quick enough to outrun Daddy when he's trying to get her pajamas on her, and she flies down the hall in a diaper and nothing else, laughing madly.

But the kicker is her pen. The circular gate-type playpen, set up over one of those big alphabet mats, originally went up for her 1st birthday party, so that the smaller kids expected to attend would have a trample-free play zone. Then we left it up, because it was a nice convenient place to plop her in the morning so I could have my tea. She even likes it in there, until she realizes how much of the house is left to explore and she hasn't got all day to do it. Then she agitates for an early release program.

This week, she realized she could push the pen and it would move. So she pushed. And pushed again. She pushed it all the way across the room. Its nice hexagonal shape warped into a trapezoid. Then she ripped out most of the letters from the mat. The whole setup looks like some tantruming five-year-old rock star barged in and trashed the place. Kiddette, however, is only 18 months.

She seems a little surprisingly strong for a girl. More accurately, for a girl who came from me. Being the type who was picked last for every team, ever, in the history of school, and then sometimes the team captains fought over who had to take me. (Hey, if we'd done archery more often I might've been more into gym class.) I'm guessing kiddette won't have that problem.

I'm glad she's tough. It's good for girls to be tough, I think. But I have no idea how I'm getting to have my tea tomorrow.

The government would like to inform you that your crib is a deathtrap

So the CPSC has posted an extended FAQ of sorts about the new crib standards. As of June 28, "it will be illegal to manufacture, sell, contract to sell or resell, lease, sublet, offer, provide for use, or otherwise place in the stream of commerce a crib that does not comply with the CPSC’s new standards for full-size and non-full-size cribs. This includes manufacturers, retail stores, Internet retailers, resale shops, auction sites and consumers." Apparently, if you need a new crib before June 28, you're on your own in making sure the crib meets the new standards (which apply to slats, mattress supports and hardware in addition to drop sides). 

Also, owners of drop-side cribs are encouraged to get immobilizers. If your crib was in a recall, the manufacturer is required to provide one for free. If your crib was never recalled but you figure better safe than sorry, pony up $10, sucker, and be glad we didn't charge you for shipping.

Does the immobilizer make your crib safe according to the new standards? No. Also, the CPSC only tested and approved immobilizers for recalled cribs. You with your non-recalled crib, you are, once again, on your own.

And you over there with your perfectly functional stationary crib? Don't be so smug:


 "Is a study, non drop-side crib okay for a consumer to use?
It is unlikely that your current crib will meet the new crib standards. The new standards require stronger hardware and rigorous testing to prove a crib’s durability. If you continue to use your current crib, you are encouraged to check the crib frequently to make sure that all hardware is secured tightly and that there are no loose, missing, or broken parts."


Obviously, you can't resell or give away your old deathtrap. The CPSC suggests you dismantle it and discard it. Gosh, maybe we could all have a big bonfire and invite the manufacturers whose shoddy manufacturing caused this big, expensive, fatal problem in the first place. Want to bring the marshmallows, guys? I'll get the graham crackers and chocolate. I know you can't afford much, what with all the recalls and the immobilizer kits and all that. You poor things.

So what to do if you're still using your deathtrap and don't really have the money to go out and buy a non-deathtrap crib in June? Check the hardware frequently, or consider switching to a play yard. Because there are never any recalls associated with play yards. Nope. Never. Not a chance. No way.

Contraband crib, continued

So I walked into kiddette's room yesterday morning to see her clutching the drop side of the crib, jumping up and down like she's on a trampoline, grinning ear to ear. Boy, if that doesn't wear out the drop side, nothing will.

I ordered the immobilization kit. Even though I am really pretty offended by the whole situation.

How do you jump like that in a sleepsack? Honestly.

The contraband crib

As of June, kiddette's crib becomes illegal-ish. That is, I think we can keep it but we can't resell it. Or we can't let it out in public. Or something.

The problem is that since our drop-side crib was never the subject of any recalls, and I'm feeling confident it was assembled correctly, and frankly we haven't even moved the drop-side part since before kiddette started sleeping in the crib, there's no clear-cut course of action recommended. This blog, which seems to have good info, basically says, don't use the drop-side and keep checking the parts for wear. One-half of which we've already done. The CPSC -- which now has an entire section on its site devoted to cribs -- says get an immobilizer kit anyway, because you never know.

The company that made our crib very nicely pointed out (after congratulating me for being such a conscientious mommy -- um, thanks?) that their cribs hadn't ever been recalled and they stood by their products, but if we'd like to buy an immobilizer kit they have one. Of course, there's no clear picture of said kit on their site, so I have no idea what it looks like or how it would work, and by the way wait three weeks for delivery.

We've had absolutely no problems with the crib, ever since it was kiddo's. If anything, the drop-side was too tough to lower, not too easy. And every time I pulled it back up, I'd lean on it and jump up and down a couple times, just to make sure it was firmly in place. Yes, I really am that way.

But I know hearing about all the other crib problems is going to get in my head. Which exasperates me to no end, because then I feel like we're being penalized for other people's screw-ups. "Other people" of course meaning the shoddy manufacturers as well as the people assembling the cribs who apparently had no idea how to follow directions. Really, installing the drop-side upside down? Backward?

And that just gets me worked up all over again about how many kids' products out there are cheap, useless, dangerous crap. It's like manufacturers and retailers have absolutely no regard for the potential harm their products could do, as long as they get your credit card number first. How can anyone seriously come down on parents for being neurotic crazy messes when they can't even trust their child's bed to be safe?

I don't know if parenting really is harder than it used to be, but I do know worries like this absolutely should not need to be part of the job description.

Anyway. Still debating the kit. Cause I guess I'd be some sort of bad parent otherwise, right?

Strike out

So we're developing sort of a preschool social life here, which is good because it'll help kiddo further settle into this new place we've deposited him into, and also because you can only have serious conversations about potty usage and tantrums and snot color with other parents. Non-parents must think we're loons at this point.

Kiddo had his first bowling birthday party the other day. This had me a little worried, because he'd never been within 50 feet of an actual bowling ball in his life, and also I was going to be no help, because I suck so much at bowling that I'm not even sure bumpers would help me. Also I hate doing badly at things in public. I don't even enjoy Trivial Pursuit games once I've blown a couple questions too many. (Which inevitably happens once the sports questions roll around.) DH of course is a fine bowler, and owns his own ball and shoes. He also couldn't come to the party. Leaving me to coach kiddo, which is a bit like asking that Sanjaya dude to teach you opera singing.

Most of the other parents were bowling themselves, and were all shoed up and ready to go. I begged off on account of my suckitude, and also I suspected kiddo would run up and kick the pins over himself if I weren't watching him. Tactical error: You're not supposed to walk onto the lane part in your street shoes. Not wanting to break the rules, I hovered near the ball return as kiddo staggered up to the lane, carrying the ball with both hands: "OK, bring the ball up to the line. Not that line. The other line. No, that's not your lane. Go straight ahead. Straight ahead! OK, now push the ball down the lane. Push! Go ahead, push! That's it! No, don't cross the line! Don't cross the -- "

Bzzzzt.

"OK, that's OK, come on back, you get to go again. Come get your ball. Now bring it up to the line. No, don't push it from back here. Up to the line. Up to the line. Go ahead! No, not that far --"


Bzzzzt.

Seriously, I think his score sank into the negative numbers.

Before we started, he'd discovered the glory that was the video game nook behind the lanes we were using. He was especially fascinated by the racing car game, even though he never caught on that what he was "playing" was the demo. Hey, he's entertained, I get to keep my quarters, it's a win-win. But naturally this racing car game was way more fascinating than whatever arcane task I was trying to get him to perform with the bowling ball, so every time he was done with his turn, he ran right back over to the video games and grabbed the steering wheel. I spent several frames positioned between the games and the bowling lanes, watching the monitor, so I knew when to grab him and haul him -- over his protests -- back over to the ball return. At about frame six, I had a sinking realization: There are four frames to go. What if we were expected to actually finish out a game before they wheeled out the pizza and cake? How long were the lanes reserved for? Could kiddo maybe nap in the party room in between turns?

Thankfully, that was when they wrapped things up and we commenced eating.

Don't get me wrong, it was a nice party. It's just that kiddo, clearly, is my kind of bowler.