Yesterday Sam Macky and I met some friends at the new Chat & Play place for some chatting (for me) and playing (for him.) Unfortunately there wasn’t a whole lot of either one. Alas, I can’t even blame any of it on Chat & Play, the disfunction was all on us.
I keep changing my mind on whether the whole Chat & Play concept is pure genius or masochism personified. Here’s the skinny — you pay a paltry $2 for your kid to play in their cute little play area, while you get a chance to order a foamy latte delivered to you in a mug, a yummy-looking muffin, and/or a nice Boars Head deli sandwich. You then select an adult-style chair and chat with your friend, or perhaps you lounge on the incredibly comfortable leather couch and flip a stack of non-parenting magazines. Sounds like bliss, huh?
Well, now factor in a rainy Friday morning with a gazillion toddlers running around a relatively small space, babies screaming like they were being tortured, abandoned juice boxes everywhere, and a guy looking like someone’s grandfather from Florida belting out some nursery rhymes into a microphone of all things. That’s where the masochism part comes in. My ears hurt just thinking about it. Well, Sam Macky’s ears apparently hurt, too, for good reason. In fact, he was overwhelmed even as we walked into the door, yelping out, “Sam want to go to Baba Noba!” (translation” Barnes & Noble). Oh my. And it didn’t get any better from there. In fact, it only got worse.
All of a sudden every moment of sleep he ever missed seemed to have caught up with him, so he wandered around aimlessly crying for no reason. When I asked him that tough question, “What’s the matter?” he responded mournfully, “I don’t KNOW!” It’s hard to reason with that and/or make things better when you don’t really know what the heck is wrong in the first place. (Please recall the newborn stage if you dare.)
Meanwhile, every other mother was enjoying a refreshing chat with a friend and sipping a steaming latte while their kids played serenely together. Hence, the name — Chat & Play. For us it was more like Stress & Cry. Well, we were there physically but never really got there in spirit — enjoying, serenity, none of that. I sure did try, but Sam kept dragging me around by the finger. And don’t you know it, the one toy he was interested in was right in front of the door, so I had to sit there to make sure that he didn’t end up missing like poor Madeline from the Portuguese resort.
It was just not meant to be, so I finally pulled the plug on it and headed home, already looking forward to Sam’s long winter’s nap and perhaps my own shorter one. Unfortunately the highly anticipated long winter’s nap for Sam started prematurely about two minutes from the place. Alas, he was snoozing away for the remaining 23 minutes of the drive, waking up as we pulled in the driveway. I kid you not. I would like to type a four-letter word or two or three, but I will refrain and settle on a two-letter one — oy.
All I can say is thank God I discovered a show called “Fireman Sam” on PBS. Otherwise, I don’t think I could have made it through that long dreary afternoon dealing with an overtired toddler whose ears were probably still ringing. Thankfully there was a silver lining on those gloomy grey clouds — an early bedtime. Phew!
LibbY