Strollerderby : playdates

Playdate: Would You Go "No Poo"?

JeanneSager — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 21:27:00 GMT

Here's one way to answer the carcinogens in your kids' bath products - Amy Graff at The Poop is going "no poo."

As in no shampoo. Not a drop of Johnson & Johnson. Not a palm of Head and Shoulders. Graff, who is one of my favorite columnists over at San Fran's main parenting blog, is making a leap that I have to admire. Or hold my nose about.

The "no poo" method has had its proponents for years, folks who say it's better to let the body's natural oils keep the scalp healthy and the hair "clean." As Graff explains in her "no poo" mission statement, the idea is that a few weeks of greasy hair must be endured. But when the body takes over, word has it luscious locks take over.

The sort of fringe movement is jumping from granola crunchy greenies to parenting mainstream as reports on parabens, phthalates and 1,4-dioxane make more of us realize there's a lot more to fear than a dirty kid. Take Graff - she's always thought the whole thing sounds kind of "icky" . . . but her kids' shampoo is on the Campaign for Safe Cosmetics' list of products loaded with carcinogens. For the sake of her kids, she's willing to give "no poo" a try.

I checked out the CSC list, and took heart that my daughter's shampoo isn't on there (although a bubble bath we once used an entire bottle of was - eek). If it was, I'd obviously change - to another shampoo. Although it's hard to trust the big companies, it's even harder to fathom not using something relatively heavy duty to rid my daughter's head of play-doh and play sand on a daily basis.

I'm going to follow Graff's experiment, but I'm not that brave. What about you?

Image: Boon

Five Ways to Spot a Stalker Mom - So You Can Run

JeanneSager — Fri, 26 Sep 2008 16:34:00 GMT

I always thought it would be kind of cool to have a stalker. Not in the "I love Jodi so much I'd shoot the president" sense, but you know, someone who would still checking out my saggy mom butt even though he isn't required by the ring I put on his finger.

Then I found out about the Mommy stalker. I can spot the type these days from across the playground. She’s got a group of five or six kids around her, and they’re “shaking the sillies out.” In other words, she’s getting them high on kiddie crack, just in time to send them back to Mom.

I go to the playground now with a ready-made excuse. A story to write. Dinner to make. Because she’s going to ask what we’re doing later. She’s going to invite us over for a playdate. Worst of all, she’s going to do it right in front of my kid, who is going to say, “Yeah Mommy, please can I go? Please, please?” Judas.

Kids love the Stalker Mom. She’s fun. She’s annoying. She expects you to hang out during your kids’ playdate, and she doesn’t think that entails a bottle of wine. You want to avoid her at any cost. Don’t worry, the ‘Derby’s got your back. Here are the top five dead giveaways so you can spot a potential Stalker Mom at 30 paces:

She says “I heard that,” and titters when you drop a pile of books in the mud outside the library door and mutter “s**t.” (Yeah she heard it, because I said it. And, no, I don't mean "sugar.")
She prefers the floor to the chairs at story hour. Easier to crawl after the babies and pinch their butts. Also easier to lead songs that involve clapping because you can just brush the sippy cup, teddy bear and other necessaries abandoned by your child off the lap onto the floor. (I sit on the floor all day at home lady, while my kid is otherwise engaged, please, please, allow me to give my back a little relief).
She uses the word "fun." In every sentence. In reference to potty training and the like. In adult conversation. (Thus making conversation not freakin' fun at all.)
She's on a first name basis with the staff of Chuck E. Cheese. (Well, you know, it is fun).
If you have a kid, she will find you. And invite you to her house. And get your kid wound up. And make your kid fall in love. And you'll be the mean old Mommy (or Daddy) if you don't just let them play . . .

Image: Quizilla

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Playdate Outcast or Just Rude Freaking Mammas?

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Mon, 12 May 2008 15:29:00 GMT

A friend had something weird happen to him at the park the other day, and I was curious to see if this was par for the course mom-friend behavior or whether this was, say, a little rude.

Basically, he befriended a mom at a nearby park and after a few days was invited to join in an impromptu picnic, and then, at said lunch, the moms started planning a beach trip. My friend, who by then had thought he was one of the group, grew excited until he realized they were planning on going without him.

"I suppose it doesn’t occur to them that I am sitting right there, another at-home parent in the market for daytime activities. But remember the old rule not to invite people to something in the presence of people who aren’t invited? Well, they didn’t."

Tacky, rude or peachy keen?

Strollerderby Playdate: A One-Stop Irreverence Bonanza

Madeline Holler — Wed, 12 Mar 2008 17:17:00 GMT

Some playdates are all about the kids. And that's no fun. Playdates need some grown-up drama, gossip, intrigue, or else why bother showing up week after week?

Which is why I loved today's playdate with The Irreverent Homemaker. Plenty of her friends showed up. They know how to dish. Not a single well-mannered, conventionally polite, minced word in the hours we spent together.

Let's see ... there's the freshly married woman who's obsessed with her ex-boyfriend. (Awkward!) And the one who fell for a trucker. (So sweet -- she knows truckers have a really high rate of hemorrhoids, right?). Also, a kind of preachy piece on politics (there's one in every crowd).

Those are just the added irreverent voices. The Irreverent Homemaker holds her own too. So we get recipes (typical homemaker!), a treatise on giving up the well-manicured lawn (Amen!) and lots of random but relatable ramblings (coffee's almost ready, T.I. Homemaker, hang in there).

The irreverence gets a bit extreme in the blog section, as it's been nearly a year since that's been updated. Come on, TIH, we know you're not beholden to convention, but how's about an update when we meet back at your place next week?

Photo: The Irreverent Homemaker

Strollerderby Playdate: She's Leaving the Group

Madeline Holler — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 20:32:00 GMT

So this is it. It's over. One of my guilty pleasures is to be no more. My conflicted feelings over loving to read Elisabeth Hasselbeck's parenting journal, curiously over on the Dreft laundry detergent website, is to be no more.

She has written her final entry. And she has bid the blogger playgroup in my mind farewell. Dammit, Elisabeth. I was just starting to like you.

Her final entry is a whirlwind of ideas and activities and subtle clues about the woman who we know so well from Survivor, and that one E! show where she went shopping for cheap clothes, and now as the guardian of all ideas red, right and conservative on ABC's The View. Before she waves good-bye, she confesses that she doesn't easily say "no," bites off more than she can chew, and hasn't written thank-you notes to those who sent her newborn gifts (he's now 3 months old). She tells us she is overwhelmed with preschool applications for her unpotty-trained, binky-loving 3-year-old. Human, are we? I KNEW it!

You're going to miss Elisabeth too, right? It's not just me? I know I could start watching her on The View, but it won't be the same. I've accepted that we'll now only see each other when she's made a gaffe at work. But we had some good times, me and Elisabeth. Some good times.

Strollerderby Playdate: She's a Beauty

Madeline Holler — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 12:18:00 GMT

Here’s what every playgroup needs: a good photographer. Someone who shows up – unbidden – with a camera and a strollerload of talent. She takes pictures, shrinks, crops and uploads only the gorgeous ones – she’s got plenty to choose from -- making sure to load your Inbox only with those shots that star your own child. God, I love that playgroup mom.

Which is why I’m excited about today’s playdate with Chookooloonks. Just thumb through her daily photos. I mean, just a few days ago, she took an absolutely stunning shot of – are you ready? – a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

I know, it can’t be. But it's true. Great shot. She takes pictures of flowers, her daughter, herself, stuff from her house (am I making her sound boring? It's not.) Just look at that picture of her coffee mug above. A mug!

Sure, Chookooloonks doesn’t feature any pictures of my kids – that would be weird, because I don’t actually know the blogger. But I’d be glad to meet her, especially if she promises to bring her camera.

Chuck E. Cheese’s! Get out!

Photo: Karen Walrond via chookooloonks

MILPs -- Playdate Crushes Gone Mild

Mike Adamick (Cry It Out!) — Mon, 26 Nov 2007 17:56:00 GMT

I was watching Tina Fey as a guest judge on Iron Chef last night, and it struck me that my obsession was now complete: Tina Fey. Food. This is definitely a Mom I'd Like to Playdate.

And I think we'd totally hit it off. We have so much in common.

She used to work on Saturday Night Live. I like to watch it. She plays Liz Lemon on the popular "30 Rock." And I like to watch it. She has a daughter a little older than my own. Tina could watch them while I stare blankly at her and mutter things like, "yeah" and "cool." I think everyone would have a good time. Not at all creepy. But there you go. She's my MILP.

Who's yours?

Strollerderby Playdate: The Weekly Playgroup You Love and Hate

Madeline Holler — Mon, 08 Oct 2007 19:38:00 GMT

When I first became immersed in modern parenting culture, I shuddered at the notion of "playdates" and "playgroups." Why the rotating schedule? Why the detailed organization? Why all the hugging and muffins? Why bother?

I learned quickly, though, that the house becomes a prison, the park gets old and it’s easy to overspend at Target when you’re going there three times a week just to kill time.

I have embraced the playgroup ever since.

Still, I find them to be an imperfect solution, these weekly playgroups. In the same way you can’t choose your own family, playgroups are a crapshoot. You take what you can get. And what you get, I realized (after belonging to thousands in three different cities with two different kids), is pretty much the same. In blog format, I present you with the playgroup prototype:

This is the mom behind every playgroup. She’s the one who reaches out, invites you in, and reminds everyone of the details -- this week’s location, theme and snack provider. She’s awfully busy and not always interesting. But she’s where you start.

Then there’s this mom: the attention hog. Her voice is a little louder than everyone else’s, and there’s a good chance she won’t talk to you. She believes she’s very funny, and she sometimes is. You feel immediately exhausted whenever she shows up and a little let down when she doesn't.

There’s also this mom, the most popular. You don’t know what the big deal is – she looks normal, she sounds normal. Still, you watch her too. You feel the fizzy bubbles of jealousy surface now and again when you see everyone huddled around her, looking after her kid, listening to her vacation stories. You’re relieved each time she mentions her medications. You notice right away when she's gone.

Around this mom, you just feel dumb. Big, stupid, oafish, offensive and dumb. You replay the conversations you have with her over and over in your mind, looking for anything that might have been misconstrued as racist or insensitive or, god forbid, a small-minded display of your white privilege. You kick yourself for mentioning your daughter’s straight, blond hair.

Here’s the mom who talks endlessly about fertility issues. You love the gory details, you nod sympathetically at the masked pain. You feel a little shitty for being pregnant and hope that you'll move again before it becomes obvious.

Of course, there's the one you have a mom crush on. Her stories are tied up nicely in big, tight, raffia bows. But you read between the lines, and you see the rage, the impatience, the lack of control, the self-loathing. She's writing your life, pretty much. But your kids don't come across nearly as deep.

And don’t forget about the dad, the token guy. He shows up once, sits in the corner with his daughter and her juice box and never, ever comes back. Was it the fertility mom's ease in discussing cervical mucus? Maybe the anti-racist's bit about white male domination. Who knows. But you come back, again and again, dreading it before, bitching about it after, scrolling down your bookmarks week after week, getting out, checking in, staying connected.

How Jamie Lee Curtis Keeps Kids in Line at Her House

Karen Murphy — Sat, 14 Apr 2007 13:02:00 GMT

'Cuz Jamie Lee is One Mean Mominator, and for that I adore her! Here's her secret: after the kids are dropped off at her house for a playdate with son Thomas (11), and after the parents leave, she explains her terms [paraphrased].

1. You can do anything you want here. Anything. And I mean that.

2. If you get hurt, I fix it. Me. No hospital, no emergency room. Me. You need stitches? Great! There's the needle and thread (and a handy block of wood for biting down on to keep from screaming) right over there.

3. Have fun, kids!

Apparently the hyperactive little cusses calm right down and are no trouble at all. What are your secrets for keeping order in your house during playdates?

Strollerderby : playdates

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