Sunday, September 19, 2010


When my kids were little they had playdates. Carefully arranged home-based playtime that us Moms would squeeze in between Gymboree, preschool, park time and story-n-craft down at the library. Two like-age and similar interest children would play in the sandbox or the living room under the watchful eye of whichever Mama was hosting. Healthy well-balanced snacks and beverages would be served, and were likely to be cut or arranged in the shape of some recognizable Disney character or prehistoric creature.
Of course, the two newest additions to my brood bypassed that stage entirely (lucky them, lucky me). But that doesn't mean they don't still have playdates.
Just yesterday, for instance, James had a couple buddies over. I never spoke to any Moms about it or glanced at my calendar. James called them up, asked if it was OK, and they came. Then instead of the sandbox, they did more teenage boy things. They begged for some cash and rode their bikes out to Burger King and the dollar store. They ate fattening fast food (no prehistoric creature shapes in sight) and drank sugary sodas. They hung out near the bridge and watched the cars whiz by (not the Matchbox variety) and drank a certain caffeine loaded drink in a can that James covets and I pretend to know he doesn't get from time to time. They talked, not about Bob the Builder or their favorite dinosaur, but about.... well I don't even really know what teenaged boys talk about. School? Girls? Movies?
In due time they came home, strutting and felling very manly with their small slice of independence. Then they spent a good deal of time blowing things to smithereens on XBox.

Boys, after all, will be boys. No matter the age.

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