sometimes i talk too much

The children are hurting–HURTING–for more playtime with friends.  I cannot blame them.  Their mother is not the best at setting up playdates, the suffocating heat has kept them indoors every afternoon for the past twenty days, and while I believe they truly enjoy each other, sometimes it’s good to mix things up.

Monday morning I caught them mid-run as they screamingly made the loop around our first floor.  The empty week lay stretched out before us and I thought it as good a time as any to let each of them choose someone to invite over.  Little Missy immediately hollered her go-to friend (the adorable Miss F.) but G really pondered the question.

“Well,” he slowly began, “I really like Bubba and K.C. and TMJ, but I’ve already seen them this summer.  So I’d like to invite T.”

T., who I knew from eating lunch at G’s school with him, and who I know OF from other parents telling me that he’s in G’s class this upcoming year, but I don’t really know T. yet and we certainly have not yet had T. over to our house.  Nor do I know his parents, other than two or three times running into his dad at a store close to our house.

So I pulled out G’s school directory, located T’s mom’s email, and sent off a note to her.  In it I explained who I am, why I’m emailing, and would T. like to come to our house to play?

Let me interject here and say that Hubby and I (maybe moreso it is I) are weird about letting our kids play in other people’s houses.  To not know what room they’re in, what they might be getting into, worries me.  We didn’t let them play in Neighbor Boy’s house until two weeks ago and that kid has been at our house multiple times per week for a year.  It takes us a loooong time to trust somebody with our kids.

With that in mind, in my note to T.’s mom I explained that Hubby and I are hesitant letting our kids go to someone’s house and if she and her husband felt that way then we’d be happy to meet at a park to let the boys play but if it’s too hot then we’re certainly happy to have them over here and I can pick him up or drop him off or whatever.

Too much.  I know.

See, I either over-share or say too little and come off as a snot.  Just last night I went Sally’s Beauty Supply for some hair color and while I tried to locate the kind I just bought last month and was very pleased with, the overly helpful sales girl came to help me.  ME, who spent thousands of dollars on cosmetology school, apprenticed in one of the best salons in Tulsa for six months before charging way too much for salon services, went to a cutting class at the Bumble and bumble University in New York… I know the difference between ashy and golden toners.  But I stood there, smiling and listening, because I didn’t want to explain to her how I can’t find my out-of-state license and don’t feel like fighting with the Peel’s girls over it, so I snuck in there quickly.  And I’m pretty sure my silence made me come off as aloof.

After Sally’s I ran into the store where T.’s dad sometimes works.  As he rang up my purchase he commented that his wife had gotten an email from me.  And the words exploded out of my mouth about how I just want to make sure they’re comfortable and I’m not weird (DEAD GIVEAWAY that I am.  Who says they’re “not weird” but weirdoes?) and G would love to have T. over to play.  He just smiled and said that it would probably work out.

PLEASE SAY YOU DO THIS, TOO.  That you overshare at strange times.  I know my dear friend C. does; she has a great illustration of your brain screaming “NOOOOOO!!!!” as your mouth chatters away before you can catch it.  Maybe we’re the only two and that’s why she’s one of my dearest friends?

This morning I got a response from T.’s mom that she’d be happy to let T. come over to our house and play.  Which means she doesn’t think I’m as weird as I think I am.  Or it means that she doesn’t care that I’m a weirdo.  It’s probably the first scenario.  But at least G gets to have his friend over.