The Sand Sorority

We went to the sand park today. I've mentioned before how much Pudding Pie loves this place. I am not quite as enamored, but that is not the point. Anyway, I slather Pudding Pie up with sunscreen and off we go the park, with sand toys, sippy cups filled with ice water, peanut butter sandwiches and some Animal Crackers for good measure. We drive there - it's really close - I unload our stash in to our rickety little stroller, I plunk Pudding Pie in and we head for the sand.

Did I mention that I'm not looking my best? My teeth are brushed, my hair is brushed (just barely), but that's about it. My clothes are creased, I'm not wearing a stitch of make up and I look as dumpy as I feel. But what is the point of getting all glammed up for the sand park? We go there, we have fun, we get filthy and then we go home and take a good shower.

Anyway, we make our grand entrance at the sand park and find a gaggle of other mothers there and they've set themselves up like it's their own private beach - sans surf. This I do not have a problem with, ‘make yourselves comfy’ I say. But there is something about their attitude that irks me. They have spread themselves out: strollers littered everywhere, towels, sippy cups, lounging chairs -I feel as though I'm crashing their party.

We pick our way through their debris and find ourselves a spot on the fringe. They do not offer to move some of their cr*p out of the way. They feign ignorance, but I know we are being observed from behind dark sunglasses and perfect pedicures. We get to playing and it’s all good.

The Sand Sorority is yakkin’ it up: Oh my gosh/I KNOW/totally!

One of their brood crawls over to us and engages with Pudding Pie. A Sand Sorority mama spies him, scoots over and swiftly yanks him away: ‘Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!’ (For what?)

We continue our sand adventures, Pudding pie in her element, mommy gently sweating and fantasizing about a/c.

Later an older kid from the brood meanders over to investigate the large hole I have dug for Pudding Pie. Pudding Pie is sitting on the edge, legs dangling in the hole. Older Kid looks into the hole, remarks that it is big and idly kicks sand in. I say in my best diplomatic voice: ‘Oh, honey, don’t do that please – it’s her hole.’ I am ignored and I note that no Sand Sorority mama looks likely to intervene.

‘Stop that please.’

No response, the idle kicking continues.

Protective mommy kicks in: ‘Listen to me: Stop that now or I am going to stop you myself.’

Older kid looks startled, there is a noticeable hush from Sand Sorority. Then Older Kid’s mama calls him over sharply and speaks to him in hushed tones, casting furtive glances our way. Our glances meet, I receive a quick, tight, fake smile and I send back a huge, cheery one.

You may outnumber us Sand Sorority, but don’t mess with this mama.