Playtime

Yesterday I watched over the 3 year old while he ran around in the playroom at my hostess’ gym. Once upon a time, this was my world— the pandemonium of happy screaming children running around, the little cliques of chatting mothers who’d bonded sharing exhausted, knowing smiles, occasional shrieks of pain when some toddler face-planted onto the soft cushioned floor. Back in the day, I’d met up with my Mocha Mom girlfriends at IKEA, signed our kids into the playroom and enjoyed 90 minutes of conversation, 1 dollar breakfasts and free coffee refills. We’d silently pray that our children would be properly exhausted by the time we left, but hopefully not enough so that they’d fall asleep in the car on the drive home. I was so grateful that there were free places where my sons could play safely and I could get a brief reprieve from constant vigilance. Bless the folks who created these sanctuaries of fun and temporary parental respite.