Tag Archives: Party

Sleepovers are Suckalicious

“Mom, I threw up”

These words drag me from the disorienting sludge of shortened slumber. As I crack the surface of 4 AM consciousness, my dread is joined by horror as I remember…

WE ARE HAVING A SLEEPOVER.

Sleepovers are Suckalicious

Ellen: There I was tip-toeing through a quagmire of adolescent bodies to the far corner of the basement with my 11 year old daughter solemnly guiding my footfalls as if we were traversing rope bridges on our way to golden treasure.

Erin: Wake up, Sister, because that seems awfully poetic for what actually went down.

Ellen: Okay, so I was stomping on fingers and crushing toes, crinkling my plastic grocery bags all the way, stumbling to get to the pile of chunder. There may have been some muttered swearing.

Erin: May have been?

Ellen: Whatever. While I deserve pity, you can hold onto it. As I’m dislodging dripping blankets and cleaning vomit off a foot attached to a miraculously still sleeping child, all by the glow of a dying flashlight, I had time to reflect that…

THIS WASN’T EVEN MY WORSE SLEEPOVER EXPERIENCE!

Erin: Get out!

Sleepwalking Authenticity Tip: Don’t Hold Your Arms Out!

Ellen: That prize belongs to the Sleepover of 2009 with the fake sleepwalking event.

Erin: Oh. My. Blessed. Psychopaths.

Ellen: Once again I am dragged from sleep, this time with the awful words “Clementine hurt herself.”

Erin: That is one bad wake-up.

Ellen: I know! I fly down the stairs to find Clementine on the floor twitching. Ten pairs of hysterical eyes turn towards me as I’m blasted with a cacophony of hysteria that blew my hair back.

Erin: Was she having a seizure!?!

Ellen: Just wait. Story was that Clementine was sleepwalking and then fell down on the ground twitching.

Erin: Holy crap! Were you freaking out?

Ellen: No, because I was in the presence of the most artfully laid out “passed out seizing person” I had ever seen. And her “seizures” were dissynchronous flailing.

Erin: In English, please.

Ellen: She wasn’t doing it right. She hadn’t even been asleep long enough to be in the stage of sleep for sleepwalking.

Erin: Score one for the MD.

My skating was bad because of the shoelace! You can see the truth in my Maybelline spackled eyes.

Ellen: Um, no. My quick diagnosis was my undoing. I should have called her bluff and called her mom to pick her up, but all I could hear was the Siren song of my bed. So I went to peel her eyelid back, prompting her to spring higher than a June bug on a hot griddle, and proclaimed her a faker.

Erin: She was having a serious Tonya Harding moment.

Ellen: You got the picture right. But Clementine stuck to her story, the girls were freaked out, and many thought I was a bit of a slacker mom. Months later she came clean, but to this day I can’t understand why she would take a practical joke so far as to get me involved. She knew me well. She knew I did not suffer fools.

Erin: When I was a kid, we did everything in our power to keep the parents out of our business.

Ellen: I know. Crazy.

Erin: Well, I see your Münchausen Maestra and raise you some Male Melodrama. We still refer to the Guitar-Hero-Head-Bashing-Daniel-San-Channeling-Mommy-Tattling-Cluedog-Erin-Cell-Phone-Debacle of 2010 as the Mother of all Mishaps.

Why you gotta hate on llamas?

Ellen: Oh my. So drama is not only for girls and llamas?

Erin: Noooo! Less than TWO hours into my then 14 year old son’s sleepover birthday party, I receive not one but two phone calls from mothers.

Ellen: Come again?

Erin: It seems that in the ten minutes it took for me to set up the trough to feed the herd, Boregard allegedly kicked Bubba in the head while he was playing Guitar Hero.

Can’t you tell by his face that it was an accident?

Ellen: Well, I do understand the tendency to rock out whole-body-style during Guitar Hero, but . . .

Erin: Just wait. This gets better. So not only was there alleged physical violence, but both boys immediately called their Mommies UNBEKNOWNST TO ME who proceeded to then call me. At the same time. Yes, call-waiting was involved.

Ellen: At this point, were you checking for spy-cams?

Erin: I had a disorienting Twilight Zone moment for sure. The whole situation broke me. I now think, without any trace of irony, that we should relegate sleepovers to the status of renewing your license—once every four years.

Ellen: Awww, come on. There are ways to put lipstick on this pig.

Erin: Confiscate cellphones with the fervor of a TSA agent when confronted with 4 ounces of shampoo?

Ellen: No. Put your rubber gloves away, but you might want to have your plan in place for how you are going to handle technology before the guests bust down the door. Really it can all be summed up in one Sisterhood Secret . . .

Erin: Right! Always remind your child (before and during the party) that if things are getting out of hand, they can quietly slip away and get you to be the heavy without any indication that ratting out took place. A little reminder of the rules makes for an excellent escape hatch.

Ellen: In addition to that epic piece of advice that is good for more than just sleepovers, we’ll leave you with one more–Stock up on some ear plugs.

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Sports Parents Roast, er, Toast

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Erin: The world is fresh, the air is clear, and the days are long. I hear Andy Williams singing in my head, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year!”

Ellen: I haven’t even finished putting away my Christmas decorations…

Erin: No, it’s not THAT time of year! Put away your Christmas lists! It’s time to pay homage to the Gods of Green Grass! Any mom worth her weight in soccer balls will tell you: Spring IS sports.

Ellen: More happy than ever that we swim. One more thing on the calendar this month might break me.

Erin: If your kid plays a sport with a ball on a field, you are feeling me right now. We Moms have worn out those second homes also known as our minivans, filled countless water bottles, and developed a serious case of tennis elbow from scrubbing the knees of baseball uniforms.

Is she talking about us?

Well, Providence has smiled upon us and there is an end in sight! So walk off that hamstring pull you developed from crouching in awkward positions on the sidelines. Erase the memories of frost bite from that all day soccer tourney and. . .

Ellen: Forget about that lovely lower back condition from sitting your middle age butt on cold, unforgiving bleachers?? Not gonna happen. Why doesn’t the extra padding help??

Erin: N’er you mind! It’s time to put those ailments literally and figuratively on ice, because we have reached the finish line!

Now it is TIME for The Sports Banquets and End-of-Season Parties! Woo-Hoo!

Ellen: I was a sorority girl. I know parties. These are no parties.

Erin: Don’t be a hater. We <ahem> , I mean, the kids have earned these! These parties warm my heart and put a little gold star on top of my mommy chauffeur report card. But you know what would blow them over the top?

Ellen: A keg.

Erin: No! Well, yes, but I’m talking about honoring our sideline sitters as well. Let’s fire up a BBQ and roast, I mean, toast our parents.

Ellen: Still going with a keg, but I like a good roast or BBQ or . . . what are we talking about?

Erin: Get on board. Without further ado, we bring you. . .

The Double EE’s Awards for Sports Parents

Ellen: Where are our kazoos?? Well, imagine us playing them here. . . Doo-doo-dle-do!

The Olympic Hopefuls

Me Wants Some My Precious!

Erin: These parents were double-dosed with a powerful case of “my kid is the best.” Every crap their little darling takes is solid gold.

Ellen: Gross, but accurate. They act like they have their sights set on actual gold. . . medals, that is.

Erin: These parents Stress. Me. Out. There. I said it. Their earnest talk of the best sports camps, trainers, travel teams, and coaches—it all leaves me reaching for an oxygen mask…or a whiskey.

Ellen: The real bugger is that their kid is usually really good. It’s not like they are looking at a dandelion picker or a bench warmer and spinning tales of Rio 2016.

But the truth is that we have a small pond here. Even if their kid can backstroke in the bigger ocean of talent out in the Big Wide World, the odds aren’ t great for seeing Junior standing on that podium–about 700, 000 to 1. These are roughly the same odds as drowning in a bathtub.

Erin: Glug. Glug. We just wish they could tone it down a little. Take it all in. RE-LAX.

Ellen: But not too much while in the bathtub. This is not the place to beat the odds.

The Glory Dazed

Erin: These parents were the bomb in their day!

Ellen: They ruled the field, the track, the court, the diamond, or the pool.

Erin: They are usually very respectful of the coaches, know the rules, and love to help the kids learn to love the game.

Ellen: The problem once again is their myopic vision. If they are trying to work out some shortcoming in their own sports career through their kids, their focus can be laser-like and oppressive. For those of us on the sidelines, it can be hard to watch.Where’s that whiskey?

Erin: Their more intense, less educated cousins are the parents who were picked last in gym. These parents are also trying for a do-over through their kids, but their lack of understanding of the sport creates unrealistic expectations and impossible demands.

If you have to watch this scenario play out, treat yourself to a double-shot.

Ellen: Okay, THAT is the hardest to watch. It’s Toddlers and Tiaras on turf. Think about it.

The Jersey Collector

Erin: These parents are those kids you remember from high school who had bios yards long because they were on every team: varsity and intramural. Well, those kids are all grown up now, and they are spreading their disease to the next generation.

Ellen: Their kids are totally over-scheduled and burdened: figuratively and literally. They are toting around so many multiple sacks of gear that it is a miracle they are wearing a helmet in their lacrosse game instead of a swim cap.

Erin: The poor kids miss half their games too. Calendars can only be stretched so far. Without some divine intervention. Or a clone.

The Vuvuzela Parent

What’s that? News flash, she can’t hear you!! But I can. Oy.

Erin: These parents are LOUD. Period. They are enthusiastic supporters of their kids and that is GREAT, but give a girl prone to headaches a break. Pass the Tylenol.

Ellen: You know what? Positive support is like Tylenol: even though it is a good thing, you can overdose on it. Take a breath, think of what a sane parent would do, dial it back a little more (just in case you have an unrealistic idea of what constitutes sane), and THEN show your support.

Also, it is O-KAY to only cheer during the spectacular parts. Just saying.

Besides, my kids swim. They can’t hear me anyway.

The Assistant Coach/Ref

Stand back, parents. We have real work to do!

Erin: These are oh-so-helpful parents to have around. They KNOW the sport and they LOVE to help the coach and the ref make sure they get it right.

Ellen: But they generally don’t like the ACTUAL commitment of being the coach or ref. And they often forget that the coaches and refs are volunteers.

Erin: These parents don’t really grasp the concept of the sideline and are constantly stepping over boundaries…

Ellen: . . . right onto the field and everyone’s toes.

Erin: The REAL coaches are not of a pay grade that entitles anyone to provide them with a running critique. If they are doing their best to be fair, they deserve a little respect with a side of parental restraint.

Too much!?! But I haven’t even painted my face yet!

The SuperFan

Erin: These parents don’t just love their kids—they love their kids’ teams.

Ellen: They are harmless, but hapless.

Erin: And easy to spot! They are bedecked in team gear. . . for their 8 year old’s team. From head to toe. To each his own.

Ellen: Erin might be endorsing this award because if she bought gear for every one of her 4 kids’ teams (yes, she gets bonus points for not having her 4 year old on a team) she might not be able to afford gas to get them the heck there.

I’m okay with it—as long as they leave their customized vuvuzelas in their SUVs.

The Holier-Than-Thou Superfits

Erin: My friend Nicole once told me that nothing stresses her out more than “Healthiness One-Upping”.

You know the parents I am talking about. “I just brought homemade granola and hand-squeezed OJ for snack.”

Or: “We run a 5k every night together, have eliminated all unrefined sugars from our family meals, and are currently lobbying to have all junk food taxed.”

Ellen: It is enough to make you want to crawl under the bleachers with a Kit Kat bar. But for the love of high fructose corn syrup: FRUIT SNACKS ARE CANDY, NOT FRUIT!

Erin: Hmmm, I’m getting a feel for which category Ellen falls into. But I am getting up on MY soapbox: END THE SNACK!! For the love of all that is good, kill this tradition. Give it the swift death it richly deserves! How ’bout this instead? EVERY kid brings his own snack. EVERY time.

Ellen: You have floored me with your brilliance.

The SMILFS

Erin: This term usually applies to soccer moms, but you can find these parents in all sports. These are the Moms working it on the sidelines at 8am looking like they stepped out of a salon. Ladies, maybe you didn’t get the memo, but we don’t do pretty before a decent cup of coffee.

Ellen: And a blowout to stand in the rain forest humidity of the indoor pool? Puh-leez!

Erin: You win! We are not worthy.

Come here, kids! You are gonna want to hear this!

Ellen: And last, but not least, the best award ever. . .

Erin: For real, with no traces of snark…

The Sports Parent Extraordinaire

Erin: These parents GET IT!! These parents support without suffocating and guide without getting carried away.

Ellen: These parents have put sports in its proper and important place as part of the myriad of experiences that help kids grow and develop.

SLAMDUNK! These parents are the real superstars!

Erin: These parents don’t need gold stars, championship cups, or bridge loans for four star summer sports camps.

Ellen: They are the rational, loving, SENSIBLE parents we ALL should aim to be!

Erin: Now excuse us before the rest of these parents roast us with a flamethrower.

Ellen: Or, at the very least, blast us with a vuvuzela.

Here is a link to a great article about why sports are great for kids.

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May Bloggers Dance: Cruising

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Erin: We are such fans of Stasha’s Monday Listicles because they always seem to coincide with things going on in our lives. Or maybe it’s just that between the two of us, we always have so much stuff going on that we can pretty much twist any topic to fit.

Ellen: This week’s topic was presented by Stacey from Mothering Moments in support of her wonderful new link up called ‘An Hour In A Day’. We were asked to make a list of ten things that happen in an hour of our lives.

Erin: I started to list what happened in an hour of my day and I just couldn’t go on. Didn’t have the stomach for it. Didn’t want to see it in writing.

Ellen: So I took this puppy over because ALL OF THE HOURS of my past week have been consumed by making the #BloggersDance Party video for Kerry @HouseTalkN.

Erin: She is being soooooo melodramatic. It was only 30 hours.

Ellen: So without further ado,

TEN THINGS THAT TOOK PLACE DURING ANY RANDOM HOUR WHILE PRODUCING OUR VIDEO

1. Consult teenage daughter on how to make a movie in Movie Maker. Teenage daughter points out that I have yet to download any of my video clips. Good point.

2. Plug phone into the computer to download videos. Two of them will not download. Swear repeatedly as repeated attempts fail.

3. Resort to emailing the clips to myself off of my phone. Wait 1 hour because I have sporadic 3G coverage at my house. Yep, you read that correctly, that is one hour burned right there folks.

4 Spend hour waiting for email from myself by listening to scads of copyright free music. It ain’t all good or pretty, people.

5. Call Erin about sending her video clip to me.

6. Finally start making video. Realize that 3:54 minutes is an enormity of time to fill. Start to panic.

7. Call Erin for her video clip, AGAIN. Conversation starts with, “I don’t understand..” Realize I may just have to cut bait and move on.

8. Call friend to email me a compromising picture of Erin. Mary emails me the photo in five minutes. Mary moves to the top of my “Favorite Friend” list.

9. Cannot save video because I have maxed the memory on my computer. Spend three hours managing memory on my computer. Consume a glass of wine. Or two.

10. Long story immensely ( and blessedly) shortened: the video was produced and saved, uploaded to You Tube, and presented here for your viewing pleasure! Please let us know that the effort was worth it. Lie if you have to. We’re totally okay with that.

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Step Away From The Confetti Cannon

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Ellen– I might be climbing on a soapbox, but not every female maturation milestone is a Hallmark-confetti-cannon-scrapbooking-buy-a-charm-for-the-bracelet moment. Some things can just unfold and happen.

Erin– First words, first steps, first birthdays–celebrate away.

Ellen– First bra, first heels, first bottle of foundation—why make a big deal about it?

Erin – Trips to the American Girl Store, those over-the-top birthday parties, even the elaborate preschool graduation ceremonies have upped the ante for us all. We get it! You’re so used to celebrating, commemorating, and shutterflying it all for posterity that you are a little unclear as to what exactly you SHOULD be celebrating.

And all this fascination with “My baby is growing up!” milestones has led to a parenting landmine: arbitrarily deciding WHEN they should occur.

Ellen– Let’s start with make-up. I realize that the acceptable age to start wearing make-up elicits a permanent eyeliner drawn in the sand response from a lot of mothers, but why?

Erin– Random hard and fast rules do exactly one thing really well: Establish the battle lines. Other than that, they are completely useless as guiding principles. When confrontation or acquiescence are the only choices, nothing is assured but a bloody battle ahead.

They Will Never Take Our Eyeliner!

Ellen– Now, we all MAY be able to agree that 9 is too young to be be-dazzled.

Erin– But we are here to tell you that the water gets really murky after that. And don’t be delusional enough to think you can control the tide. Ever consider your daughter can go into the bathroom upon arrival at school, put on the make-up and wash it off before she comes home?

Ellen– Yes, even YOUR angel is capable of that.

Erin– Wanting to feel comfortable with yourself is a powerful thing. Is this really the battle you want to wage? Do you want to set up a scenario for dishonesty?

Ellen– As with all arguments, it’s about defining terms. When my daughter began wearing make-up in 6^thgrade, we were talking about mascara and lip gloss—not full-on-pole-dancing-kohl-rimmed-eye-with-glitter-thrown-in-for-good-measure.

When I noticed Coco’s interest and saw where the rest of the girls in her class were, I just bought her the mascara and lipstick from Walgreens. I presented it to her one day and asked if this was something that she was interested in.

We had a mother-daughter moment without fanfare. By giving her those things, I acknowledged I was paying attention to what was going on in her life. No girls’ weekend to the flagship MAC store in NYC was needed.

She progressed to smudgy brown eyeliner and subtle shadows from there, but I have always monitored their use and stepped in with guidance as needed. Liquid black eyeliner gets calmly replaced on the shelf without drama because shopping for cosmetics hasn’t been set up to be a big deal.

Erin– I can feel hackles raising. I felt the same way. I did not wear make-up until after the birth of my second child, so it was not my thing. At. All.

But then my pale-lashed, redheaded Biddie confided to me in one of our mother-daughter pillow talks that she felt self-conscious about having HER school picture taken:“Nobody can see my lashes, Mom, it makes me feel weird.”

Now, we have had the talks about inner beauty, looks not being important, etc. but I remember middle school perhaps a little too keenly. One tube of medium-brown mascara gave my girl one less thing to worry about.

Ellen– Okay, so if you are not judging us yet, let’s see if I can push you to the edge.

Erin– Wait for it…

Ellen– My 13 year old daughter has her hair highlighted.

Erin– Stop! Don’t leave this post to go Google ‘Toddler and Tiaras.’ Ellen and Coco were not contestants.

Ellen– If you had asked me when Coco was 8 what I thought about tweens getting their hair colored, there would have been a lot of sputtering about skin-deep beauty, oppression of women, and maybe even a “Hellz No!”

Erin– Ah, but arbitrary pre-judgment will bite you every time.

Ellen– My Coco was born in July and she is a full-on summer girl. Come 80 degree weather and she transforms – golden tan through her layers of SPF 50, light brown hair streaked with blonde.

This was just a natural cycle for her until she began competitive swimming when she was 9. Natural blonding plus hours submersed in the swamp of public pool chemicals led to VERY BLONDE.

Erin– Come October, this led to trashy Jerry-Springer-worthy roots.

Ellen– So I would take her to my salon to get it “fixed” back to her winter color. Until this year when she said, “My blonde hair feels more me. I don’t want it to go away.”

Ugh, really? I needed to think about that. Well, while I was thinking about it and formulating my eloquent speech about her inner beauty shining brighter than any blonde beacon on her head (see, the speech still needs work), picture day arrived. When I say arrived, I mean Coco remembered to give me the form at 7:30 pm—the night before. Bam. That is how Coco rolls.

Erin – I’m seeing a trend here. Maybe the real problem is picture day.

Ellen – Her roots were bad, people, BAD! I can’t stand roots. Makes me feel creepy, especially for my adolescent because it made her look like I condoned her coloring her hair AND we didn’t keep up with it. Double judgement! And I definitely wasn’t putting out the cost of a tank of gas for pictures with roots.

Erin– This is where I get to say “HELLZ NO!” School pictures are expensive!

Ellen– So I played my own little inner game of Worst Case Scenario School Pictures Edition: Trashy Roots vs. Drugstore Hair Color. L’Oreal won. To sum it up: the roots were fixed, my daughter was impressed, the pictures were classy, and Coco was riding on the hair coloring highway.

Erin– Lest you all still feel like judging Ellen, or Coco for that matter, I go camping and outdoor adventuring with them twice a summer. Coco doesn’t bring make-up or a hair dryer with us. She is a trooper, and her make-up-wearing, highlighting ways haven’t seemed to curb her flair for the hanging-out-in-the-woods variety of fun. She hikes, bikes and kayaks without an ounce of vanity.

Ellen– See? Hair color does not define a woman. No need to draw a line. Besides, it’s easier to see the ticks in her blonde locks. Hey, that might be my new explanation for the highlighting: preventive medicine.

Erin– Nice spin.

Ellen– But seriously, I made the choice that supported my daughter and made her feel relaxed and content in her own skin. I listened to her.

Erin– And the Sisterhood learned to never say never. Not everything deserves a battle. Not everything deserves a party. Sometimes you can just let things happen.

Ellen– So, I’m begging you to just follow your daughter’s lead and consider what makes her comfortable. This even goes for leg shaving. There is no magic age for wielding a razor, just consider what is right for your daughter, not what makes you feel like you still have a little girl.

And for the love of little boobies, please just bring the first bras home, let her try them on, return what doesn’t fit and move on from there. Once you get past the first bra stage, your girl will feel fine with shopping for bras.

Erin– And you know why? Because you didn’t make her feel all “My girl is becoming a WOOOMMAAN!”

Ellen– But for all of you saying, “Sisterhood, you just don’t know how to celebrate this womanhood stuff, we’re not listening to you on this one,” we’re going to make one final plea. Just please don’t throw a party for her first period.

Erin– Just because there is a company that makes menarche tableware and “Pin the Ovary on the Uterus” games does NOT make it a good idea. If you’re putting tampons in a favor bag, it’s time to take a step back.

Source

Ellen– We are not making this up. Menarche Parties R’Us is for real. Yes, you read the name correctly.

Erin– So if you’re in our camp, you’ll be peeing your pants laughing over this.

Ellen– And if you disagree with us, you’ve got yourself a supplier for throwing one humdinger of a “Girlhood to Womanhood” party.

Erin – The only winner? Mortification.

Ellen– Cue the confetti!

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Don’t Have All of Your Friends in One Basket

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"Don't Have All of Your Friends in One Basket" Parenting Advice: Diversify your kids's groups of friends. Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Tribes are a big part of Planet Teen © . Your friends, your buds, your posse—If you are a teen, this core group can make or break your day. Most of the time, things are peaceful, sometimes less so. Here’s our take on maintaining your sanity when the tribe is rocky.

Ellen– If you have a teen or a tween, it feels like “PEER PRESSURE!” screams from every poster, magazine, and After School Special. Oh wait, After School Specials were my generation.

Erin–All of us of a certain age remember them—we had five channels and no remote. If you were a kid allowed to watch TV, you were tuning into such gems as My Mom’s Having A Baby—live birth and everything (should have probably taken notes or something) and Rookie of the Year (girls are great at sports too–who knew?)

Ellen– Remember “Schoolboy Father,” where Rob Lowe lobbies to have custody of his baby even though he’s 16?

Erin– What’s not to love? Anyway, these specials didn’t just aim to entertain, they had loftier goals—they wanted to educate us on some of the dangers of adolescence.

Peer pressure figured in a lot of them. Apparently, friends were the real wolves in the forest. The ones with their sheep’s clothing sliding off in their not-so-subtle attempts to ruin your life.

Ellen– But in a rare turn, I’m going to look at the brighter side of things. Peer is not the bad word here. Peers can also provide wonderful support and encouragement.

Erin- Unfortunately, there is no way to order a “well-adjusted-fun-sweet-tempered-best-bud-for-your-kid” on the internet.

Ellen– Yet.

Erin– But you really are looking for more than “Hey, I’m a kid, you’re a kid” when trying to find a peer group that works for your kids.

Ellen- Now don’t get crazy ideas in your head about interviews and DNA samples. Your child has always got to have freedom in choosing his or her own friends.

Erin– But you know what they don’t have a choice over? Their birth year. For no other reason than when they were popped out into this world, they are stuck with their birth cohort at school. In some schools, this group could be together for their entire K -12 lives.

Ellen– For some this could be the most comfortable fit in the world.

Erin – For others, the fit could be as awkward as OJ trying to squeeze his meaty paw into that glove.

Ellen– But while choosing your child’s friends is not something you should try to do or face dire consequences, what if you gave them more choices?

I have a phrase that I have coined, “Don’t Have All of Your Friends in One Basket.” Get it? A play off of the idiom, “Don’t Place All Your Eggs in One Basket.” I know, not a huge stretch, but focus on the wisdom of it, not my creativity.

"Don't Have All of Your Friends in One Basket" Parenting Advice: Diversify your kids's groups of friends. Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms

Thanks to Jellybean for crafting these friends

Erin– If I had any useful “Little House on the Prairie” skills, I would cross-stitch that sucker onto a dishtowel—that’s how genius this is! When kids are hanging together all the time, like in an elementary school classroom, nerves are bound to be frayed and cliques are bound to be formed. And you pray it won’t happen, but at some point your child might end up odd man out—kicked out of the basket.

Ellen– You know how you temper the angst? Move those kids around. Shake it up and create different baskets to land in. Through the grace of Lady Luck, I have nurtured and encouraged various circles of friends for my girls.

Erin– It’s like dosey-doe-ing your way through the square dance of life—switching partners just when things start to get a little ugly. I have nurtured such dance moves in my own crew, and we are all much happier for it.

Ellen– Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. We didn’t start out with this strategy—it just kind of grew. But when Middle School reared its ugly head, we realized what a special thing our kids had.

Erin– Sixth grade was an ugly beast for Biddie. Dear sweet girls who had been close friends morphed into something else entirely. Our perfect fit was off, and school became a painful, ugly place.

Biddie was ready to cut the girls out. But we have a small school, it really did just look like hormones run amok (I never for one minute thought the girls were intentionally hurting her), and now was the time to learn how to deal with difficult people. Ellen shared her “Don’t Poop In Your Own Den” maxim, and we took it to heart. We also took a break.

You heard us.

Ellen – In case you are just joining us, “Don’t Poop In Your Own Den,” means not to cause a stink in a place where you have to stay. Just like Ross and Rachel you can take a break without both sides knowing, but unlike in “Friends,” it can be a good thing—the best thing even.

Erin – I asked Biddie, “Listen, who is not involved with the drama?” She told me about studious, quiet Abby who read during lunch.

“Well, girlie, Abby just became your new best friend.”

Biddie took a break from the school girl drama with a series of great books (Highly recommend The Penderwick books and The Lightning Thief series), and a quiet non-drama buddy to sit with at lunch. She focused her middle school friend energy (which is limitless) on her neighborhood friends, Ellen’s girls and their associated posse, and her track buddies.

No more sleepovers with school friends for a whole semester. No more afterschool time with them either. I keep hearing Ross from Friends voice, “WE WERE ON A BREAK.”

And you know what? After a spring and a summer laying low, by the time we reconvened for 7th grade in the fall, all had settled and life has been drama-free. We know we were lucky. We are also pretty darn happy.

Ellen– So I guess we would like to help you tweak your luck. If you have young kids, you are primed for this advice.

Erin– And even if you have older kids, it’s really never too late to put this in action. Even if these “baskets” start when the kids are young, they are constantly morphing and shifting.

Ellen– One of the most important groups in our lives is the “Baby Friends.” These are a group of kids from our original playgroup. And I use the term “original” loosely. On a playgroup pickiness scale of 10, I’m probably a 15.

Erin– I know not of this scale you speak of. I have zero radar and am not picky in the least. This brings its own issues sometimes, but I’ll try to stay focused.

Ellen– The playgroup members shifted around quite a bit in the beginning until the moms found a good fit.

Yes, we based it more on the moms than the kids. The kids were two—they didn’t care who they were snatching the toy from.

It all started with MOMS Club. You can see if they have a local chapter near you. It might be a good fit.

Erin– Fast forward 11 years and Ellen’s Labor Day party was a showcase for this group in action. Many of the people there were from the original MOMS Club group, but many were new friends who had fallen into the bunch. We Mom friends live in all the corners of our rural county, so the kids don’t get to see each other much anymore. But they fell in together like their days in the sandbox were yesterday.

Ellen– I think the giant inflatable water slide helped.

This wasn’t even half of the kids there

Erin– Now don’t despair if playgroup days have passed you by. Playgroup for elementary school is spelled like this: extracurricular activities.

That’s right. Once your kids are wiping their own noses and tying their own shoes, that sandbox looks like a soccer field, a Boy Scout or Girl Scout meeting, a dance studio, or a Destination ImagiNation team practice.

Ellen – It looks like a church youth group, a theater stage, or a Lego League. There is a fit for every personality type, so start googling now. Look at your local Parks and Recreation, community college, or library website for activities that make your child feel happy and comfortable. Service groups are a good warm and fuzzy fit, too, because they are already made up of kids who are willing to work for the good of the community.

Erin– So when that snit of a mole hill becomes a mountain of frenemy warfare, a nice safe basket will be ready and waiting for your babies to jump into until the storm passes.