The important things

Three other moms in the neighborhood and their kids came over for a playdate this morning. Two little girls, and three boys were all playing in the house. Two were in diapers (man, I have not missed that smell!) but all were capable of running. One of the little boys, Joshua, is developmentally delayed and while almost three, cannot say much.

It is amazing how quickly we forget. Pre-playdate I should have thought to myself: There will be boys here, one of them not even two. Put away the impossibly small Polly Pockets and cover the wire that is sticking out the wall in that room, and ...But I didn't think. I forgot those details like I forgot the smell of a poopy diaper. I also didn't kid proof the girls' room. Even if I had, would I have noticed the crayon jammed in the dollhouse amongst the tiny food and dollhouse sized toys? The girls never play up there, just downstairs. But of course, today that was the play area of choice after the two young boys had dumped the bin of legos, the bin of blocks, the bin of too -little- to- go- in- the- toybox toys. I had also forgotten this fettish of bin dumping that young children have and failed to remain completely cool during the viewing of these accomplishment as I unintentionally covered my eyes when I saw Joshua dumping the Polly Pocket bin. The poor mothers were trying to make their boys behave, but they did come to a house for a PLAYdate where I didn't plan ahead and my less than calm reactions certainly didn't inspire the hoped for relaxation.

As lunchtime came and went, it was past time to end the playdate. Which was full of helpful and comforting conversation. We began to pick up and discovered a gravel-like blue substance on the carpet. The white carpet. Clearly staining the carpet. We couldn't figure out what it was. An obvious smell wasn't present and the texture seemed foreign. But it was wet and clearly came from someone's mouth. After some admirable sleuthing, we figured out that Joshua had eaten a crayon (I later found the wrapper in the girls' room) and spit it out on the carpet and on some legos and in one of the Snow White dress-up shoes. We asked him if had eaten a crayon and he grinned and said "yum" (one of the ten words he knows!). I tried to be gracious. It is only carpet. I said all the right things. Afterward I told K how even when guests stain the carpet we need to react kindly. It wasn't intentional and people are more important than things. Right? RIGHT. I just wish my stomach would unknot itself as I think of a permanent blue spot on the carpet. Why can't my physical body follow the ideas and thoughts of my brain?

Oh for all those practical people out there, don't write some comment about how crayon can come out of carpet. I haven't really tried yet. I was capturing the moment!