What a Playdate Bait + Switch Taught Me about My Village

It was 8:34 a.m. on a Sunday I had already called my mom with the news. 

The baby had a new eyelash. And was not a fan of green beans. Riveting headlines, as usual.

All of the major to-do items of the day had been accomplished. It was just the babe and I to pass the time. My husband John was building a private therapy practice and had taken our only car. 

Fortunately, I had a playdate on the books that day to which I could look forward. I had invited a neighbor mom over, which was more of an excuse to drink coffee and gab until our babies’ next nap. 

Only, when I opened my front door, I found instead my friend’s husband, whom I had met once, and their daughter. He sent his wife’s regrets that she was operating on a deadline. I suddenly regretted my decision not to wear a bra. In fairness, though, I was not counting on a playdate bait and switch. 

The awkwardness was palpable, but we managed to keep the conversation afloat while the kids stayed contained and entertained. He’s one of us, I thought. This dad has signed the invisible contract: we will support other parents in the trenches, and do no harm. Just as I was pouring myself another mug of coffee, the playdate proxy announced it was time for his daughter’s nap.

We bid adieu to the playdates from our front stoop. I turned with my baby in my arms to go back inside, and only then did I begin to wonder if my friend’s husband had indeed signed the contract, or at least read the fine print. Specifically the part about doing no harm.

Because the door handle would not turn. 

We only ever used the dead bolt, never the knob lock. Our children were not yet capable of reaching a doorknob, so I imagine the friend’s husband must have turned the knob lock on our front door as a force of habit. 

It was a balmy 37 degrees F in mid-winter Boston with turbulent winds and I was locked out of my condo with my baby who was still in diapers, and without my phone or my shoes, in addition to the great ignominy of being the neighborhood Erin Go Braless o’ the day. My husband was not due home for another seven hours, in therapy sessions with clients, unreachable by phone.

Should I follow the playdates and ask if we could temporarily crash at their place? My feelings were increasingly moving from irritated to homicidal. A of all, who calls an audible on playdate parent without any notice? B of all, WHO THE FUCK LOCKS THEIR HOSTS OUT OF THEIR OWN HOME? 

I walked the perimeter of our condo building and just as the stress tears were about to fall, our upstairs neighbor, Jimmy, who was all of 24 years-old and whose refrigerator contents were probably a six pack of Bud Light and a jar of mustard, called, “Hey! How are you folks doing?”

I explained our plight, our keylessness and shoelessness and carlessness. I did not mention our bralessness and fresh diaperlessness. 

In a stroke of unparalleled generosity, Jimmy lent me the keys to his car so that I could go to John’s office and retrieve the extra house key.

“See, that’s awesome,” I explained, “but I don’t have the car seat, and--”

Jimmy immediately offered to watch my baby during the time it would take me to get to my husband’s office, retrieve the house keys, and drive home. He insisted my baby would love to watch the New England Patriots with his girlfriend and him. 

To show my appreciation, I handed my offspring over to this relative stranger whose skills in CPR and generally keeping small humans alive were unknown to me. My child seemed psyched to be with anyone other than Boring Mom.

I drove as fast as I could without shoes to my husband’s office, whose whereabouts were slightly fuzzy as I had only driven him there once. This was in the Before Times, before smartphones could geolocate us in the jungle.

I arrived at his office building, a gauntlet of closed office doors, with no idea which was his. Ever the consummate professional, I ran stark-raving wild up and down the corridors, yelling his name at full volume.

Given that my husband had no prior warning of my arrival, when I appeared at his office door without shoes, our child, or an explanation of how I had driven there, he took it quite well - all things considered - and handed over the house keys accordingly. 

Upon my return to our condo, I found our neighbor, St. Jimmy, the newly canonized patron saint of hot mess mothers, upstairs with our child who had been converted into a Pats fan. I soon converted his diaper into a new and improved one. 

Perhaps the biggest conversion occurred in my view of my village. People wax on about the important role of community in raising a child, but sometimes a community can disappoint. Sometimes a community member who should know better locks you out in the cold. But from that same community, you can also receive the greatest compassion and charity in your moments of greatest need. 

I am now divorced from John with whom I co-parent our two teenage children. Last weekend I dropped off the family dog at John’s house and found that I was locked out, as I no longer had a key to his place. Moments later, my youngest son darted in stocking feet to open the door, reminding me that belonging is not a place, but a feeling that envelops, that welcomes you in from out of the cold.

The Lore of Ye Olde Cyber Monday

Gather round, children, if ye seek to know the true tale of how Cyber Monday came to be. Surely you have received missives from merchants hitherty thither, writ large in shouty caps. What of this Cyber Monday? And why this messaging of such urgency? Pray thee listen to the lore, for we will conjure the spirit of ye olden and golden days of the separation of our labors from home and hearth.

You see, our pocket robots were not always the tyrants you have known them to be! There was a time, beloveds, long before the metalsmiths made rings to debase your sleep debt, when your forebearers would venture home from their workbenches and be internet-less for entire stretches upon the Lord’s day. It may bemuse you, but I assure you, it was a splendid time to be alive. 

What’s that? How ever did we know how to cook? Why, we consulted the dusty, hardbound tomes full of recipes!

From whence did our intelligence come about hailing a carriage for hire, or to ply foodstuffs from hucksters who would deliver to our cottage door? And further, how did we navigate cobbled streets without so much as Mapquest directions from the scribe or block printer? Work emergencies? O’er week’s ending? It’s a mystery, fair ones, how we managed at all, even now….

And yet, it was our great delight to venture forth, after the ale and frivolity of Thanksgiving, to resume industry at our workbenches on Monday morn. We as the noble cobblers and scriveners and spurriers of our era, were verily eager to poach the High Speed Internet afforded by our proprietors and masters! Oh how those websites of the shoesmiths and milliners sparked and unfurled so fluidly, like the scrolls of the town criers! Caught in the world wide web’s thrall were we--simply mesmerized by the wares of the merchants! The skills of the online peddlers, what with their sterling promises that if we merely bought five pieces of crockery, we would receive one pot compliments of the potter. Imagine? To live so high on the hog. The expiry of those sales threatened action, post-haste, lest we tarry. 

Thus was Cyber Monday. 

What may escape ye, though, is the vernacular of “cyber.” For while it may seem an innocuous term, or even obsolete term by any stretch of your modern imagination, now, know this, Buckleshoe McGee: This word once carried a heft to it. It was an adjective seasoned with not only salt, but savory spices. Ay! It was even once a verb! Goodie Prynne and Reverend Dimmesdale were well-aquainted with its implications. The Googleman can illuminate you, should you crave to know more. 

Although ye may no longer observe this high holiday, I pray ye mark with gratitude the omnipresence of Lightning Fast Interwebs of which your generation benefits and brain rots in equal parts. I encourage your support of our robust economy, children. I pray ye acquire a host of trinkets and other novelty items that will catch your fancy, this and every Cyber Monday in this brave new world!!  

The Skincare Routine No One Asked For

No one:
Absolutely nobody:
Kendra Stanton Lee: Here are the products that I use to keep my skin clean and supple. They may contain affiliate links, but please let me know if you have questions!

A little background: I have 45 years of experience living in a human body on planet earth. I have rosacea. I have never utilized any facial service that entail needles/injections. I have gotten one facial in my life and I heard doves fluttering and angels weeping—it was so beautiful. When I am not daydreaming about that facial, I am doing the following:

MORNING:
Morning Kendra has limited cognitions and deeply resents having to be vertical before 10 a.m.. She believes she deserves a lifetime achievement award for remembering to take her probiotic each morning. While she has been told a morning cleanse would benefit her, she thinks that sounds aggressive.

1. SPRAY OF ROSE WATER MIST to wake up the skin
This one by Mario Badescu is affordable and gets the job done.

2. VITAMIN C
The “sunshine in a bottle” All Bright Vitamin C Serum by Counter is bar none the best. Comes in a glass bottle to protect the early expiry on this magic potion. This is your anti-oxidant fighter formula. It’s spendy, but I have truly seen a difference in the glowiness of my skin.

3. MOISTURIZER
Don’t skip this step. If you skip this step, you will run into the mother of the boy you had a feverish crush on his high school, and she will report back to him that you were looking a little reptilian when she clocked you in the dog food aisle at Stop n’ Shop. Moisturize. Sometimes I like a carrier blend oil, sometimes I use a basic moisturizer like Counter’s Adaptive Moisture Lotion.

4. SPF
Of course I wear an SPF. My skin turns red if I walk by a styrofoam model of the solar system. I like this Korean brand, Innisfree, which is high-coverage and non-greasy. If you prefer a tinted SPF, Supergoop is sort of the gold standard. I like it, as well.

Skincare is Self-care

And fortunately, mine is simple

EVENING:
Evening Kendra is no more nimble than Morning Kendra. However, she has the presence of mind to know she should put her cleanser on before she goes into the shower. She slathers on a pump of:

1. Lipid Defense Cleansing Oil - it’s thick enough that it gets the makeup off, but gentle enough that it’s not stripping my skin of its natural oils. Works well, smells lovely.

After my shower, I finish with:
2. Paula’s Choice Exfoliator - This is the biggest difference-maker in the bunch. Life before this exfoliator is simply not as baby’s butt smoove. But I only use it a few times a week because hashtag sensitive.

3. Retinaural Advanced Super Serum - gentler than a retinol, I really like the idea of this serum. I am told it’s reparative and will improve the elasticity of my skin. I do what I’m told.

4. Moisturizer, repeat.

5. Hyaluronic Acid - this one by The Ordinary is inexpensive. I know the skincare sages are offended by it, because it’s for the peasants, but it’s worked really nicely for my peasant skin.

These are all my boudoir secrets. I had once hoped to be a woman of great mystique and aloofness. Those dreams are dashed. When I die, though, I’ll have told my story.