Guest blogger Sue Stein: When I first saw Archer's mommy, she was refreshingly midway through her second glazed donut at the PTA meeting. "My kind of gal," I thought, "a woman not afraid to eat sugar-glazed carbs in front of other women." Plus, she had a thick mane of red hair. I've always had a thing for redheads. I'm not being hair-ist; I'm just saying that whenever I'm talking to a natural-born redhead, about four minutes into the conversation, I'll think, "I love this woman! She is totally nuts -- just like me."
Anyway, then I found out our kids got along like "Phineas and Ferb
" and that she lived five minutes by car from me. BLAMMO: new best friend! We immediately started making plans. Playdates, drop-offs ... it was a "You watch my kids; I'll watch yours" love fest. Our husbands even got along (not that we cared).
This summer, we had a standing "hump day" date on Wednesdays with the kids. They would eat, play and watch TV and we would talk.
"I am so SICK of my kids today," she'd say, pouring her second glass of wine (at 12 noon). This observation would be followed by, "Archer, if you don't stop bothering your sister, I am going to lock you in your room forever!"
I'd smile weakly, my head unable to nod in agreement. In less than two months, my new friend's irreverence toward the unspoken rules of mommy decorum went from being fun (at meetings and parties) to being frightening (when you mixed in actual children). I understood that her intention was to try to control the chaos -- I have two boys; I get it -- but after a short time, I felt as eager to get away from her as I had initially been to be with her. Does this sound familiar? Because it sure felt familiar ... like what happened with almost every boyfriend I'd had between 20 and 30. (Except those guys didn't have kids who my kids were friends with.)
Our kids still play, although I worry every time they are at her house without me. And just like the bad boys who haunted me in my youth, I still think of her often. Especially when I eat a glazed donut.