New Mummy Blog: Playgroup Rules For Parents
It’s Wednesday morning and I’m sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor of a cold and slightly smelly church hall surrounded by approximately 30 kids, all under the age of four and all belting out I Had A Little Turtle at full volume.
My idea of hell.
But also, conversely, one of the highlights of my week.
Playgroups are a lifeline when you’ve got tiny kids. Often disgusting (you can’t let scores of babies and toddler share/chew the same toys week after week and it not be a little disgusting), always headache-inducing, but a lifeline all the same. As long as you know what you’re doing.
Trying not to think of the germs… [Copyright Yahoo/Claire Sparks]
Firstly, make sure you avoid the Snotty Kid.
There’s always one. Lurid green snot streaming from both nostrils and when they’re not trying to lick it they’re trying to wipe it on the toy their holding or, worse, your sleeve if you let them get close enough. Don’t let it happen.
And the Bully.
He’s probably one of the oldest kids there and almost certainly one of the biggest. He’ll be easy to identify by the trail of devastation he leaves in his wake as he yanks dolls out of the hands of tinier tots as he rumbles by. No one else will get a look in on the slide, or get to use the Little Tikes coupe car while he’s about. Sharing’s not really his thing.
His mum will be somewhere nearby but will be steadfastly ignoring him. If he’s not her problem, he’s certainly not yours. Just walk away, steering your own little treasure to safety.
Know there’s no escape from the Competitive Mum.
This is her hunting ground. She WILL be comparing her child with yours relentlessly for the duration of the group. Just nod, smile and ignore.
Take pity on the Outnumbered Dad.
He looks so awkward, desperately scanning the room only to confirm his worst fear. He’s the only male in the room old enough to write his own name (excluding the vicar, but even Dad isn’t going to fall for that trick again – last time he launched headfirst into grateful conversation there he ended up signed up to man the food bank and help fundraise for the church’s new roof).
I’ve seen my other half in this environment – paranoid that people are either judging his parenting skills, thinking he’s creepy or suspecting he’s trying to hit on them when he tries to strike up a conversation.
Put him out of his misery. Go and talk to him.
Let the Kind Old Dear have a cuddle with your baby. She’s given up her morning to come and help the vicar run the group. She’s even baked a chocolate cake for the mums and chopped up grapes for the kids. She’ll happily hold your child while you drink a cup of tea. While it’s hot. Make the most of it.
Understand that the sing-along is not optional.
Around 20 minutes before the end of the group, you’ll see the vicar emerge, guitar in hand, ready for circle and song time. If you haven’t had the foresight to slip away before now, you’re too late. You’re going to have to join in. Hence the headache.
