Playdate Not a Playdate

We hosted a playdate yesterday morning. Well, half a playdate.

We had a traditional playdate - wherein a child Lumpyhead's age comes over with a parent, and the child excitedly plays with our kids' toys while Lumpyhead and Lula are suddenly possessive about crap they haven't cared about in months. Meanwhile, Bump and I chat with the parent over coffee or mimosas or martinis.

Bump also got roped into something that was billed as a "playdate" but turned out to be "free childcare," wherein a child was dropped off at our house and picked up six hours later.

So there was that. Don't get me wrong, I'll happily babysit your child - for free, even - just don't call it a playdate.

And there was this: Lumpyhead walked over to where Freeloading Child was sitting, very sweetly bent down so his head was even with hers, and asked if he could play trains too.

"No," she replied, flatly.

Lumpyhead's face crumpled and he chirped "That makes me very sad." Then he started sobbing.

I rolled my eyes and
a) called Freeloading Child a jerk,
b) encouraged sharing, or
c) turned on the TV until everybody shut the hell up.

On the upside, Freeloading Child had to poop while she was here, and she called it "cah cah." That is still cracking me up.