Playgroup is a strange beast – equal parts distraction, gossip, support and escapism.
It’s subject to the same worries and woes of any workplace – clashes of personality, differences of opinion, out and out tiffs.
But lately, I’ve noticed another element creeping into the mix. It’s just a tiny dash of . . . boredom.
I say this in hushed tones for fear of being labelled a traitor. After all, playgroup has been a great source of fun and friendship. It’s meant to be the place where people are at their most understanding and non-judgemental.
But, if I hear another discussion about blankies, dummies or potties, there is a very good chance I will quietly implode.
To explain myself, my youngest child is almost ready for school so a lot of these issues are a distant memory and I’ve worked very hard at forgetting them. And I’m sure I’ve done my share of boring other people with the details, but as of today, I’m declaring a stop to it.
Like fingernails on a chalkboard, the next time I hear one of these topics pop up I will be the person who suddenly and inexplicably volunteers to sift the sandpit for lost toys, clean the cubby with a toothbrush and hunt down that elusive mouse that calls the playgroup kitchen home.
If you’re passing by and see a sudden puff of smoke where a person once stood, you’ll know I didn’t make my escape in time.