Last year, an unprecedented event happened in our house: my then-5yo son had a playdate … with a GIRL. This is huge for a couple of reasons. First, whatever your feelings on gender stereotyping and all that, it’s an undeniable fact that when you have a house full of boys, testosterone takes over.

Our house is usually loud. We have nothing pink. We have one gender-neutral stroller and a doll that spends most of its time naked in the bottom of the toy bin. Despite my best efforts, we have lots of weapons. Light sabers, foam swords, squirt guns, ball-shooters, you name it. There is a lot of talk about girls vs. boys. There are sometimes “No gurls alowd” signs taped to doors. (When I point out that *I* am technically a girl, they say, “You don’t count, Mom.” They mean this as a compliment.)

My boys play with cousins and neighbors who are girls, of course, but it was still a bit of a shock when my kindergartener asked for a playdate with a particular classmate. All the more so because this was the first classmate he’d invited home. Possibly because of my anti-playdate stance.

I’ve told you I’m not a huge fan, right? I mean, that’s what siblings are for. No, seriously, it’s not because I am against kids having fun, but because playdates are potential minefields. It could go beautifully, blessing you with an uninterrupted hour or two to do housework or catch up on email, or it could go horribly wrong, leaving you arbitrating fights over who’s cheating at Uno and whether the guest should have free reign over all the toys in the house. And if you get a whiner or a picky eater or a can’t-wipe-himselfer? NIGHTMARE.

Anyway, I agreed to host the playdate. The girl’s dad dropped her off – LOVE the drop-off playdates. No hours of awkward small-talk with a stranger and less-intensive cleaning required – and I liked her right off the bat. She strode into the kitchen, plopped down at the table, and declared that, all evidence to the contrary, she actually HATED pink and was only wearing this outfit because her aunt had given it to her and her mother made her. Within 10 min. I learned more from this little girl about their class and teacher than I had from my son all year.

The dad left and my younger son was still napping then, and the kids went off to play. They colored, they built forts, they pretended to be animals. I observed quietly from the sidelines. I find that kids do much better when parents are nearby, but not involved unless someone’s bleeding. Playdates are the perfect time to fold and put away laundry, prep dinner, and sort the mail. Anything that you can half pay attention to while eavesdropping.

I DID notice some differences between boy-only and co-ed playdates. There was a lot less weapon-play and a lot more talking, for one thing. Specifically, there was a lot of talk about marriage. “Who do YOU want to marry?” the girl asked my son as they colored.

“Umm… I’m going to marry Joe*.” (*His best male friend; not his real name.)

“You can’t, he’s a boy.” (Maryland has since passed a same-sex marriage law, but NO WAY was I getting involved in that!!)

“Then I’m going to marry my cousin Kate*.” (*His female cousin; not her real name.)

“You can’t. At least, I don’t think you can… I think it’s against the law or something.” (I darted behind a door, so desperate was I to avoid getting drawn into this conversation.)

“Then I’m going to marry Gracie*!” (*His girl dog; that is her real name.)

At this point I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer and had to interject: “You guys are WAY too young to be thinking about marriage. What about going to college first?” God, I’m such a mom.

All in all, the playdate went beautifully. And it prepared me for this year, when my 3yo son asked for his first playdate with a classmate – a girl, naturally.

Even though I love blogs and social media for the most part, I am not a huge fan of Facebook. This is mainly because every time I go on it, I end up feeling bad about myself. Mother’s Day was no exception. I came downstairs already a little grumpy because it’s not exactly “sleeping in” when small, loud people keep barging in and dive-bombing you in your bed.

I might have been satisfied with my handmade cards and supermarket bouquet if I didn’t happen to go on Facebook and see all the photos of gloriously happy families lavishing their mothers with brunch, mimosas, and gratitude.

Later that day, I happened to read an article about this exact phenomenon in the new issue of O magazine, which is not yet online or I’d link to it. Martha Beck discusses how Facebook feeds our FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) and what you can do about it. In the meantime, head over to TheBump.com for my thoughts on how to keep Facebook funk at bay.

LAUGH O’ THE DAY: This year, my husband’s 40th birthday happened to fall on Mother’s Day. Way to steal my thunder, right?! So that morning, Miles very sweetly says, “Mom, if it’s Daddy’s birthday AND Mother’s Day, who am I supposed to order around today?”

Because most things in my life are so complicated, whether I think they’re going to be or not, I really, REALLY appreciate when something is simple. When something just works out exactly the way I hoped, with minimal effort and stress on my part? Heaven! And that’s exactly what happened with my porch makeover.

That’s right, I decided one Pinterest- and wine-fueled evening that I wanted to make over my front porch. It’s a decent-sized space that could be a nice place to hang out, had it not become a wasteland of toys and bikes and the recycling bin and yard tools and, for some reason, the Christmas tree stand that’s been sitting out there since December.

The first miraculous occurrence happened right after I started talking about my desire for a wicker loveseat. But not frou-frou, Golden Girls-type furniture, more like Crate and Barrel. Well, do you know what Crate and Barrel patio furniture sells for, people? A LOT. Same for Pier 1 and even Target, for that matter. So then, not even a week later, I get an email from a friend of a friend who’s giving away some wicker furniture. For free. Sold! Tell me the power of intention isn’t a real thing.

I liked the loveseat but not the cushions. Could I learn to live with them since they were, after all, free? I could not. They did not mesh with my Pinterest-produced vision. So I started looking around for other options. I tried and rejected an ill-fitting cushion from Homegoods. I hated every fabric choice at every big box store. I wished I knew I how to sew. Then I discovered something even better – someone ELSE who knew how to sew and offered her reasonably priced services on Etsy.

A dozen or so emails and two weeks later, I had the loveseat cushions of my dreams. A gorgeous turquoise and cream color, a trendy ikat print, a perfect custom fit thanks to a tracing of the cushions requested by my expert seamstress. I am beyond thrilled with the results. Don’t they look awesome?

Wicker loveseat: Before

Wicker loveseat: After

I was even inspired to buy a couple of coordinating pots and plant some flowers, even though window boxes and such tend to end badly for me. I love my new porch, and I love even more how SIMPLE it was. And that’s really the best Mother’s Day gift I could ever ask for.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you moms out there! Hope your day is happy, simple, and stress-free.

I’ve told you all before about how in the rare instances I’ve had a health issue, it’s always something weird like a thumb tumor, right? Well, this time around it was unexplained dizziness. I almost keeled over in yoga doing a forward bend, which was not only embarrassing but somewhat alarming to my yoga teacher. So off I went to the doctor.

But before I get to that, I need you to fully understand exactly why it’s such an ordeal for me to schedule regular medical appointments. I’m about 11 months overdue for my annual exam, and I still haven’t gotten some routine bloodwork done from last year because it requires fasting and going first thing in the morning and DO YOU KNOW WHAT MY MORNINGS ARE LIKE??

Anyway, I call my primary care doctor — which I didn’t even HAVE until last year, because before that I was mostly pregnant and seeing my ob/gyn far too often and that was plenty of medical care, thanks — and miracle of miracles, she had an opening that afternoon. There have been so many times I called a doctor for an appointment and by the time it rolled around, the medical issue had cleared up on its own. Or the symptoms had disappeared from neglect but the virus or whatever is still in there, killing me silently. I’ll never know.

Anyway, I booked the appointment, but then I had to find somebody to watch the kids. I know some people take their kids WITH them to the doctor, but mine would be strangling themselves with the blood pressure cuff and knocking over urine samples within minutes, I promise you. My friend generously agreed to watch the boys. But wouldn’t you know it, a couple hours later she called back and said one of her kids had just thrown up. Risk the stomach bug? No way. In the nick of time, I found a sitter and dashed off to the doctor.

Am I pregnant? Do I have a brain tumor? Is it some insidious disease that’s previously never been seen on this continent? You’ll have to click on over to TheBump.com to find out.

My son’s first grade class is learning about fact versus opinion, and how to craft a compelling written argument. I would like to share with you his impassioned essay titled, “Kids Having iPhones”:

Personally, I don’t find his argument that persuasive. I mean, why is he worried about learning to drive a car at age 6? And kids shouldn’t have to go over to their friend’s house to talk to them?! This is the generation of kids that will text each other when they’re in the same room. And apparently, everything you get for Christmas is free. Who knew?

If you ask me, I think he should worry a little more about his handwriting and spelling, and a little less about cutting-edge technology that it took his mom till age — well, a LOT older than he is, anyway — to acquire. Kids today, I tell ya…

Photo: Thinkstock / The Bump

I feel lucky that I have a wide array of mom friends, no two alike. From Type-A to laid back, from by-the-book to by-the-seat-of-their-yoga  pants. Whatever their parenting style, they all provide useful insights. For instance, one mom I know can identify a rash at a single glance. Another always reassures me that my child is not a monster, it’s “just a phase.” And yet another reminds me by example that I can leave town once in awhile and no one will expire from neglect or poor hygiene. Even if the outfits Dad picks out for the kids ARE a little wacky…

For more on the 5 Types of Moms We All Know, head over to TheBump.com.

And since I was busy removing splinters or checking math homework or something and forgot, here’s a link to last week’s Bump post: The Top 5 Lies Grandparents Tell (And What They Really Mean!) Note: SOME grandparents, not MY kids’ grandparents, of course!

P.S. In case you’re wondering what’s up with all the 5′s, I used to work for a global internet company with loads of data to prove that more people will click on an odd-numbered list. Weird but true! Gimmicky but so what? So next time you’re thinking of doing a Top 10 list, try a Top 9 instead.

This is the kind of thing my mom sends me.

An email from my mom: funny pics from the Internet, an interesting link, motivational quotes, some motherly concern: “when you don’t post a couple of times in a row, I worry that your life has gotten unexpectedly complicated.”

Ha! I love my mom. Remember when I was all “woe is me,” wondering why I keep blogging week after week, year after year? Well, I’ve since sorted myself out a bit and realized I’d keep writing even if no one was reading, because I’m a writer and that’s what we DO. But thanks, Mom, for reminding me that people (at least you) ARE reading.

Also, the part about life getting unexpectedly complicated made me laugh because YES and DUH. When is it NOT? Specifically, here are some reasons why I have missed a post or 3 recently:

1. Boys on bikes. Remember how I told you that now that the weather’s gotten nice and it’s staying light out later my boys want to be outside 24/7 riding their bikes? Well, that’s still happening. And it’s gotten even worse since my 4yo got his very own 2-wheeler (with training wheels). I am not exaggerating when I tell you that kid has been riding his bike morning, noon and night. Before school, after lunch, even after he’s in his pajamas. If we don’t let him out, he rides around inside the house. Kinda tough to write with the mini Tour de France going on downstairs.

2. Crazy neighbors. I live in the greatest neighborhood and have some of the best neighbors. Except for the ones who are not. Have you ever gotten a letter from a crazy cat lady accusing you of trying to poison her pet with yard clippings? Have you ever had to stand in front of a car to stop someone from running over your kids? Let me tell you, that can take up quite a bit of energy (and ranting on Facebook and writing angry letters to landlords) that takes away from blogging time.

3. Birthday madness. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but my husband is celebrating a BIG birthday very soon. He is not happy about this. At all. But we can’t NOT acknowledge a major milestone, right? However, getting him to commit to a plan has been as maddening and fraught with setbacks as potty training my sons. Do you want a big party? A small dinner? A weekend away? What? For the love of God, WHAT?! A more compassionate wife might sympathize about the impending midlife crisis and approach the issue with some sensitivity and patience. Whereas I may have said, “Plan your own damn party, then. I’m done.” (On a related note, have you seen “This is 40”? It is equal parts hilarious and depressing and WAY too close to home.)

4. Interaction with real people. Look, I love blogging and I love my Internet friends. But sometimes you have to step away from the computer and actually interact with other human beings in person. This is hugely time-consuming because it requires showering and putting on makeup and cobbling together a semi-cute outfit from the contents of your outdated closet and sometimes even leaving your home and driving farther than the supermarket or preschool. But it’s WORTH IT. You may have deep conversations about writing and life. You might meet some new people. You might see a very powerful and thought-provoking show like “Listen to Your Mother.”

So there you have it, Mom. The unexpectedly complicated life of an errant mom blogger. Thanks for your concern. And for being a loyal reader.

Tucked away in a residential neighborhood in Baltimore, there is a gorgeous tulip garden that bursts into bloom each spring. It’s the kind of place that is astonishing in its beauty, all the more so because somehow it still has the feel of a secret garden, even though it’s very well-known in the area. It’s the kind of place that attracts tons of tourists, landscape painters, and photographers, yet you can still feel like you have a piece of it to yourself.

We often take our family Easter photos there, but because we were out of town and Easter fell early, we hadn’t been yet this year. At the end of a busy weekend, we made a spur-of-the moment decision to take the kids there after dinner one night. It was a little chilly, a little late, and I was leaning towards scrapping our plans. But we had already mentioned it to the kids and, well, you know how that goes…

We got to the park and the boys took off running, giddy with the freedom of open green space and the thrill of being out on a school night. The sun was starting to set, but there was still enough light to illuminate the yellow tulips so vibrant they almost glowed, the fist-sized pink flowers in another bed, and the fluffy pink cotton-candy blooms of the cherry trees.

The kids had brought a red rubber ball, and we broke into an impromptu soccer game. My 6yo son skillfully darted around maneuvering the ball out from under us, arching it over his dad’s head with a graceful kick. I chased after him, feet pounding, laughing, gasping for air. “You’re so FAST! Come back here!” He laughed, too, running faster, never taking his eye off the ball.

My 4yo clambered up trees with branches as thick and curved as elephant trunks. “Look at me, Daddy! Mom, I’m way up here!” His cheeks were flushed pink like the blossoms, hair tousled by the breeze. He discovered the footpaths weaving through the flower beds and took off skipping. “Come on, guys, follow me!” Swinging from branches, leaping off stone benches.

These gardens were created in the 1920’s, on part of the estates of newspaper magnates and oil tycoons. The homes ringing the park are almost impossibly grand and stately, the polar opposite of the narrow, marble-stepped rowhouses that are so iconic of Baltimore. I’ve been lucky enough to get to go inside several of them, as part of reporting and writing stories for local magazines over the years. I once got to interview a butler in the pool house of one of the mansions. (Sounds like a game of Clue, doesn’t it?)

It’s a sad fact of adulthood that I can’t look at these houses now without thinking of real estate, landscaping, property taxes, school districts. I hate how much time I spend thinking about, worrying about, obsessing about money. Success. Prestige. Worth. Being a grownup is so overrated. I miss the innocence of just kicking a ball and climbing trees.

As the evening light began to fade and the air grew chillier, we started to head for home. But before we left, it occurred to me: I didn’t have to own it to enjoy it. And the view is just as beautiful on this side of the pool house. Maybe even more.

When I was a freshman in college, I – like everybody else – asked around to find out what were the best classes and professors. I remember there was one course in particular that sounded really interesting to me, a comparative literature class studying the themes of the Grimm Brothers fairy tales.

Word around campus was that the professor, an older German gentleman, was tough. There were no easy A’s, and a lot of reading. Also, his class met before 10am, making him even more unpopular among the undergrad set. Little did we know that someday we’d be awakened daily before dawn by damp toddlers demanding Cheerios.

Anyway, I wasn’t dissuaded. I took the course and loved it. The professor asked me to be his teaching assistant the following year, which was unusual for a sophomore. I think of the experience often, and not just when I read my kids bedtime stories. (The edited versions, that is. In case you didn’t know, the Grimm Brothers’ gruesome fairy tales are about as far from Disney as Pitbull is from the Vienna Boys’ Choir.)

I think about that class when I need a reminder that just because everyone else dislikes something — or likes it — doesn’t mean that’s true for me. It’s easy to get caught up in that herd mentality, especially as a parent. Everyone is having birthday parties at a certain venue, so it must be the best place. Everyone else is against public schools, so I guess we’d better look into private, too. Everyone else says this pediatrician’s the best and that summer camp’s the worst, and they all seem so SURE of everything and I’m not, so I guess I’d better follow the crowd.

Except there have been plenty of times that I haven’t, like that college course, and I’ve been glad. I’ve come to admire people who have the courage to go against the grain, stand out from the crowd. The popular belief is that small children are wonderful and teenagers are horrible, right? At least that’s what those “enjoy this time because just you wait” people would have us believe. But a mom once told me she cherishes the relationship with her teens because they no longer need her to tend to their every physical need and have become great company. I love that.

Gretchen Rubin, author of The Happiness Project, has said she often has to remind herself that just because something is fun for other people, doesn’t mean it’s fun for you. Like gardening. Or spinning. Or watching American Idol. Or making elaborate educational collages with your children to celebrate Earth Day.

BTW, there was a great essay in Redbook recently about a mom who confesses that while she loves her kids more than anything, she hates playing with them. In fact, she would rather get a bikini wax than play Candyland. Ha! I can relate – I will read books and do puzzles till the cows come home, but PLEASE don’t ask me to play Pokemon.

Anyway, the point is, be true to yourself. It’s OK to like stuff that other people don’t, and vice versa. Instead of being afraid you’ll be sorry for not following the crowd, think about what you might miss if you do. Like the chance to analyze very disturbing children’s stories with an old German dude.

READ O’ THE DAY: I really like Kristin van Ogtrop, the editor of Real Simple. I’ve read her book, Just Let Me Lie Down: Necessary Terms for the Half-Insane Working Mom, and I always enjoy her letters from the editor in the magazine. Here’s a version of the one in the current issue, her response to Sheryl Sandberg’s ubiquitous book, Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead.

Photo credit: Miss Cartier on Flickr

I can clearly remember the first night home from the hospital with my firstborn. While the baby was downstairs with his dad and grandparents, I was upstairs sobbing on the bed. It had just hit me that we lived in Baltimore, one of the murder capitals of the country, the setting for the violent crime dramas “Homicide: Life on the Street” and “The Wire.” What the hell was I THINKING, bringing a BABY into this world?! It suddenly seemed like the worst, most irresponsible, most irreversible decision ever.

Since then I have struggled with issues that plague all parents everywhere: keeping my children safe, learning to accept that the world is a scary place. The Newtown shooting shook me to the core, like every other parent in America, particularly those of us with 6yo’s. Then came the Boston Marathon bombing.

I wasn’t sure I was going to write about it, but when I got up this morning and faced my weekly deadline for TheBump.com, I decided I couldn’t NOT address it. I decided I had a forum and an opportunity to try to put into words what so many of us are feeling, in the hopes of offering some comfort to other parents out there who may be struggling to make sense of senseless acts.

In times like this, many say “There are no words.” But words are all I have to offer. I hope you will find some recognition or comfort in my post, “5 Honest Realizations I’ve Had Since Becoming a Mom.”