A play date with the teacher’s children
I get a thrill when the boys are invited to a birthday party, but recently it was much better than that. One of their teachers invited them to play at her house with her children.
Yes, it’s amazing, the teacher is a mother herself!
As much as I felt the smug mother knowing my children were the chosen ones, I also went into a mild panic – the invitation had barely arrived and already I was fast forwarding to when I would have to invite her children to our home.
However would I entertain them? How could I compete with what the teacher would arrange? She’s a pro.
The boys had fun and, in the car on the way home and later that day, I was consciously trying to gather intelligence on what went on behind closed doors, just to know what I was up against. What did you do? What did you eat? You know the questions.
I learned they played with cool lego (some creatures or monsters or something – we have none of that), plus listened to story tapes (no, none of them either) and ate two slices of chocolate cake each (I’m no baking Mum).
And they were delighted with the poppers they brought home, which she had given them because they played so well. Now c’mon, what Mum keeps poppers for playdates?
The teacher, sorry mother, invited Paul and I in for a drink when we arrived to pick up the kids – we drank alcohol at 11.30am and I was wrecked for the rest of the day. What will I offer when she comes over? Usually I just pop on the kettle.
I am planning the return play date – and it’s slightly embarrassing how much head time I am giving this. But hey, I’ve cracked it big time – my kids are playing with the teacher’s kids, so I can’t mess it up. Clearly there’s nothing actually at stake here, but I just feel the bar’s been raised that bit higher. Oh the things we put on ourselves!