Last month I took my oldest daughter on a weekend “Mommy Date.” It’s amazing how quickly you go from being with your kids all the time to feeling like you never see them. (That’s not necessarily a bad thing, mind you). This year, between all-day kindergarten and activities and three younger children, my big girl and I don’t have much time together. And this is a girl who needs a lot of time.

This Mommy Date was a combination of consumerism and sugar: I took her to T.J. Maxx to use the spending money she’d saved up (Her choice: an ENORMOUS plush horse purse. Totally practical.), and then to the bakery for lemonade and brioche (She’s moved on from cookies. I blame Fancy Nancy.)

I’ve had enough of these Mommy Dates to know not to expect any deep, quality conversation. In my experience, when you load down a Mommy Date with the expectation that there’s going to be some sort of meaningful relationship breakthrough, you’ll almost always be disappointed. On previous Mommy Dates I’ve  asked probing questions about my daughter’s deepest thoughts and feelings, only to be answered with monosyllabic grunts. (The really meaningful conversations always seem to happen in the middle of the bedtime story that I’m trying to rush through because bedtime is running 20 minutes late.)

This is Example #5,784 of How My Daughter is NOT Like Me. When I was growing up, I wore my heart on my sleeve, especially when talking with my mother. I told her everything: my deepest thoughts, dreams, fears. In retrospect, of course, there was a negative side to this openness; it’s a wonder that my mother had so much patience with me, and I learned pretty quickly after getting married that I couldn’t expect the same kind of fascination with all things ME from my poor husband.

But because I was such a confessional child, I can’t understand — I worry a little, in fact — when my daughter keeps her cards so close to her chest.

For instance, one day she came home from school holding a sweet little apology note (“I sorry becase I ben mean.”) from one of her good friends. It turns out that the day before, this girl had taken my daughter’s seat at a table, there was a dispute, and mean things were said. Now, the friendship was repaired. And this was the first I was hearing of it.

“How did you feel about this yesterday?” I asked. “Did it bother you?”

“No,” my daughter shrugged.

“Well, friend things can be hard sometimes. But, you know, when things like this happen you can always talk to me about it.” I said.

“I know, Mommy,” my daughter replied, practically rolling her eyes “I AM talking to you about it.”

She had me there. But she was telling me about it after the fact. When I was her age, I’d have come home from school in tears and spent half the night reviewing the dispute with my mother. It’s hard for me to believe that any child of mine could be so…stoic.

When I hear about these things after the fact, it makes me wonder what I don’t hear about. My mother had one child; there aren’t enough hours in the day for all four of my daughters to share with me the way I did with my own mother — even if they wanted to.

But there we were at our cozy little table in the bakery, munching our brioche. This time, between sips of coffee, I asked simple, fact-based questions. “What’s your favorite favorite thing to do in school?” “What friends are you really enjoying these days?” “What do you guys like to play on the playground?”

And with that last question, I hit the jackpot.

My daughter talked and talked — easily a 10-minute monologue — about the games that she and her friends play during recess. On the surface, it was the superficial ramblings of a kindergartener, but embedded in her chatting were revealing details about who she likes, the kindergarten social structure, and where she sees herself fitting in. Bottom line: It sounds like the kids are all right.

So, I’m coming around to a new way of thinking as we enter this latest stage with our daughters — this stage in which they’re out of sight for so much of each day, and I rely on their own reporting on their lives away from home. I’m thinking that it’s okay for my daughters to be different from me; if they’re happy to tell me about issues only after they’ve been resolved, so be it. And if there are things about which I never hear, so be it, too. Their mental and emotional health do not hinge on whether they report back on every detail of their lives.

As with so much of parenting, I need to take a deep breath, open my hands, and just trust.

What I can do is be available. And keep asking silly questions. And keep my ears open to really hear their answers.

Open hands, open ears: not a bad mantra for parents.

Guess I’d better increase my brioche budget….

[WARNING: Tooth fairy spoiler below!]

One of the fun things about having a six-year-old and a six-month-old in the house is the synchronicity around teeth; during a one-week period this January, Fiona lost her two bottom front teeth just as Abigail’s two bottom front teeth came in.

So now Abigail has two tiny teeth, which is awfully cute but not that interesting. I’ve seen this happen three times before. And I don’t know about you, but I find it difficult to get excited about new baby teeth, since they typically get the blame for all the baby’s fussiness. (To be honest, I could never verify that teeth were to blame with any of our babies; it wasn’t clear to me whether they were fussing from dental distress, or simply because they were babies, and babies fuss. Nevertheless, starting at 2 months of age, whenever one of our babies would holler, some wise-looking person would nod and say, “Ah, teething!” And I’d nod wisely right back, because, hey, I know what I’m doing.)

Fiona losing her teeth, though — that was exciting! This was the first time any of our girls had lost a tooth. Her teeth had been loose for over a month when they finally detached. We got the news first thing in the morning: Erick and I were still in bed when I heard the girls’ bedroom door slam open and footsteps pounding down the hall.

“MOMMY!” Fiona shouted, throwing open our bedroom door, “My tooth fell out and I can’t find it!!!”

I confirmed that her tooth was, in fact, no longer in her mouth. She didn’t know what had happened; she’d just woken up and realized her tooth was gone. I assumed that she’d swallowed it in her sleep, but I dutifully followed her back down the hall to do a sweep of her bed. This was extra challenging because Fiona had recently decided she was too afraid to sleep in her own bed, and had moved herself into Georgia’s bed. So I was searching for a baby tooth in the pre-dawn light, in and around a bed that contained two girls’ worth of stuffed animals, books, blankets — and a still-sleeping Georgia.

Just as I was about to give up hope and put a positive spin on the missing tooth (drawing heavily from Sal’s lost tooth in the classic children’s book One Morning in Maine) — I found it!

There was much rejoicing. The next task was figuring out how to deliver the tooth to the tooth fairy. Thankfully, because I was an only child and my parents never discarded any of my childhood possessions, I had my old “tooth pillow” ready for just this purpose. The tooth pillow has a little pocket for the tooth; in the morning, the tooth has been replaced by a coin.

The best thing about the tooth pillow is that it provides an alternative to the traditional tooth-under-the-pillow scenario. What with three girls sharing a room, and — as aforementioned — Fiona sharing a bed with Georgia, I was a little nervous about performing my tooth fairy duties in secrecy. “Here’s your tooth pillow,” I said to Fiona, “Put it at the foot of your bed.”

She didn’t buy it. Who started this tooth-under-the-pillow business, anyway? According to Fiona, failure to place her tooth under her pillow would confuse the tooth fairy and negate the tooth-coin switcheroo. So we reached a compromise: The tooth would go into the tooth pillow, and the entire tooth pillow would go under Fiona’s pillow. It would be bulky, but easier to locate than a lone tooth.

One more thing: Fiona wrote a note to the tooth fairy, requesting that her tooth be returned to her (via the tooth pillow) the next night. So now my tooth fairy duties included two nights of pillow-groping deception.

I tucked Fiona and her tooth pillow into bed that night, and all was well.

Five minutes later, I heard the girls’ bedroom door bang open and the sound of footsteps thundering down the hall. This is not unusual, and typically involves requests for water/potty/bandaids/ice packs/conflict resolution. That night, though, Fiona stood at the top of the stairs shouting, “MOMMMY! My OTHER tooth just fell out!!!”

Turns out that Fiona had allowed Georgia to wiggle her other loose tooth — the one next to the tooth that she’d lost that morning. And Georgia, always energetic, had wiggled the tooth right out of Fiona’s mouth.

So, that night, the tooth fairy successfully replaced two teeth with two quarters. And the next night, the tooth fairy returned both teeth to their original owner.

A few days later, we went to church and saw Fiona’s best friend, who had just lost her first tooth, too. Much excitement! “Congratulations!” I exclaimed, “Did the tooth fairy visit you?”

“Yes!” Fiona’s friend replied, “And she gave me one five dollar!”

“One five dollar”?!? In case you missed it, OUR tooth fairy gave Fiona two quarters — one for each tooth. But apparently, just across town, the tooth fairy was shelling out five bucks for a single tooth.

I cast a panicked look in Fiona’s direction, but she didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss. I don’t know how long that’ll last, though. WHY has nobody yet thought to standardize tooth fairy exchange rates? My only hope is that all of her teeth will fall out before she learns the value of money. Because our tooth fairy is going to stay cheap; after all, unless our other daughters are as efficient at losing teeth as Fiona, the tooth fairy still has to make 78 trips to our house.

My husband, Erick, has very few vices; it’s almost annoying how disciplined he is. (And he’s so humble that if you compliment his discipline, he’ll say, “No, actually I’m the most undisciplined person ever; that’s why I have to be so disciplined.”) He’s installed internet-blocking software on all of his electronic devices. He does the stretches that his chiropractor assigned him every single day. And if he’s going to drive within a three-hour period after drinking, he’ll order nonalcoholic beer.

But I know the real Erick, so I’m here to tell you that he does have ONE vice: sports talk radio.

For those lucky few who’ve never experienced it, sports talk radio refers to any of the hundreds of national radio stations that feature discussions about sports — all sports — all day long. Typically these sports programs are hosted by a male; sometimes there are two or more hosts, but they all sound the same: like cocky college freshmen who’ve drunk too much Red Bull and are talking through a tin can. They speak quickly, and loudly, and confidently. Often, they’ll take calls from listeners, but the content is all the same: dissecting yesterday’s game, giving the play-by-play for the game happening now, or forecasting the next game or draft.

I can’t stand to listen to sports talk radio. Not only do I have no idea what the hosts are discussing, but it all sounds so much the same that it becomes a nonsensical buzz in my ears (no doubt similar to what Erick hears when I tell him about my day): blah blah blah blah. And yet, whenever possible, Erick will turn on sports talk radio. I’ll leave him washing dishes in the kitchen listening to our local NPR affiliate, and when I return: sports talk radio. If he takes the girls out in the car, he’ll veto whatever Disney soundtrack in the CD player; the girls will return home complaining, “Daddy made us listen to sports talk radio!”

Little did I expect that sports talk radio would become my biggest ally in the getting-ready battles.

If you’ve had any experience with children, you’re probably familiar with the getting-ready battles. These are the standoffs that happen whenever a transition in activities requires a child or children to get ready. Prime times for getting-ready battles include, but are not limited to: getting dressed and washed up in the morning, getting out the door for school or activities, getting ready for bed at night, and getting to the table for any meal.

The funny thing about getting-ready battles is that they recur at predictable moments every day. That’s what makes them SO frustrating; every day I find myself repeating the same things, with escalating volume and threats: wash your hands, get on your boots, time to get dressed, brush your teeth. And every day my children stare at me blankly, as if thinking, “Hang on a minute, it’s morning and you expect me to get dressed? And eat breakfast??? When did THIS start happening?!?”

One day, my two-year-old said to me, “Mommy, I can’t hear you because you’re always talking.”

The toddler wisdom of that statement was undeniable. And as I pondered the problem, I wondered, What if it’s not ME talking?

One night at bedtime, it all came together. I was doing my usual routine, repeating, “Put on your pajamas….Put on your pajamas….Put on your pajamas!” Then I paused and said, “Hey, girls, want to do sports talk radio bedtime?” They nodded, intrigued.

So, I put on my best sports talk show host voice (as I’ve said, they all sound the same) and announced, “LIIIIIIIVE from the Pajamadome, it’s the Gong Girls’ Bedtime! It’s the first round, putting on pajamas! Whooooo will have their pajamas on first? Fiona’s looking focused, Georgia’s a close second, but Campbell’s the dark horse!”

As they raced down the hall to brush their teeth, I got more sophisticated. “Aaaand now, for a toothbrushing play-by-play, let’s hear from Frank on the field.” “Yeah Ted,” I continued, deepening my voice, “Toothbrushing raises the game to a whole new level. To be a star toothbrusher you have to get the toothpaste on the brush, and then clean the fronts and backs of both the top and bottom teeth! And then there’s the flossing…..”

It worked like a charm. The girls loved it; I’d never seen them move so quickly. It turns out that when Daddy’s background noise applies to them, it’s a major motivator.

Sports talk radio hasn’t been a total victory in the getting-ready battles. I can’t do it all the time, because then they’ll start tuning me out just like when I use my normal voice. And occasionally it backfires if somebody thinks I’ve unfairly declared a “winner,” and tantrums ensue. I’ve tried taking more of a “Team Gong” approach, but then they miss the individual accolades, so I can’t win.

In any event, it’s a tool. It’s worked for us, and it’s a lot more fun than yelling.

Now I’m trying to take a more creative approach to our child-management issues. I’ve even rewritten the words of our daughters’ current favorite song, “Let it Go” from the movie Frozen, in order to suit my needs (Let’s go/Let’s go/Can‘t wait for you anymore/Let’s go/Let’s go/Get in the van and close the door/I don’t care/If you want to play/Get your coat and shoes ON/Tantrums never bothered me anyway!).

Next on the list: Dinnertime conversation, which currently consists of three girls shouting over each other. One night, Erick came down to dinner holding a large speciman from our shell collection. “So, girls,” he began, “there’s this book called Lord of the Flies where they use a ‘Talking Shell….'”

That one ended about as well as it did in the book.

Actually, there is no problem with playdates; in and of themselves, they are wonderful things, providing socialization for children and breaks for parents.

I do have a small problem with the term “playdate,” however. The word has become widely used across geographic boundaries — or, at least, it’s used in both California and Vermont. I never heard the word “playdate” until I started having children of my own, and at first I thought it was absurd; it struck me as pretentious, corporate. Back in my day, we’d say we were “going over to Susie’s house to play,” or “having a friend over.” But I guess in this age of efficiency, everyone’s too busy to use that many words. “Playdate” it is.

Here, based on my own experience, is the evolution of the playdate:

Birth to age 2: These aren’t really playdates; they’re “mommydates.” Mommydates serve a valuable purpose, but let’s not pretend that they’re really for the kids: Mommydates are for the mothers. They are:  1) chances to leave the house and have some adult interaction, and 2) chances to compare your baby to everyone else’s baby and feel either reassured or insecure.

Age 2: The Parallel Playdate. This type of playdate involves two or more children who are playing near each other, but not with each other. A parallel playdate usually requires lots of parental suggestion, as in: “How about you go play with Johnny? Remember your friend Johnny, right over there?”

Age 3: The Contentious Playdate. As children become more aware of other children, they begin to see those other children as adversaries; competitors for the best toys, books, and dress-up clothes. These playdates involve brief moments of peaceful, interactive play, followed by long stretches of conflict resolution.

Age 4: The advent of the Drop-Off Playdate! This is the beginning of the golden age, when you can take your child to a friend’s house and leave them there. Two four-year-olds playing together are reliably housebroken, and will typically be able to entertain each other for long stretches without major, parent-calling conflict.

Age 5 and beyond: Smooth sailing! The harmony and endurance of the four-year-old playdate continue. One added benefit, at least in my house (based on a complicated set of calculations having to do with the nature of our yard, the town in which we live, and the presence of two large dogs) is that by age 5+ I feel confident allowing my children to play outside by themselves. This may occasionally backfire, as it did last month when the girls had two friends over. Everyone played contentedly in the snow for 90 minutes. I checked on them regularly (I was inside with a napping baby and treats baking in the oven), and could see that they’d found their sand pails and shovels in the shed and were busily filling the pails with snow. What ingenuity! I thought. It was only later, when I realized that they’d actually been filling the shed with snow and I had to shovel two inches of snow off the shed’s wooden floor, that I had second thoughts about independent outdoor play.

All the same, playdates are wonderful. But over the years, as we’ve added to our family,  playdates have become a little more complicated for us. Playdates with a family of four children raise some issues, like:

1. It’s scary to invite us over.  The number of playdate invitations we receive decreases each time we add a child. We had four kids in five years, so all of our children are quite close in age. Our first three daughters have  friends in common, which makes it hard to invite one Gong Girl without including one or two others. Not many people are brave enough to invite ALL of our children over to play, and for good reason — we’re overwhelming. And once you invite more than two Gong Girls, it’s pretty much a given that I have to come along, for crowd control. Then you’ve got three children, a mom, and a baby storming your house; you’d better time it well so that you don’t have to feed us! (What’s amazing is that so many generous friends still DO invite our family to playdates!)

2. It’s scary to come over. Most of the families we know have one or two children. When we invite these children over, first I have to convince the parents that REALLY, we want your child to come over! It won’t be too much for me to handle! Additional children actually HELP, because they distract my daughters from me! Once that’s been accomplished and the guest children come through our door, they’re instantly outnumbered. It’s a very special child who’s not completely overwhelmed by the attentions of a six-, four-, and three-year-old (with a host mother who’s distracted by a baby). I understand; it’s hard enough to parent these girls — I can’t imagine having to play with them!

3. The problem of the younger half. I spent a lot of time arranging social interactions for our first two daughters. Back when they were toddlers, I had energy and a desire to “socialize” them outside of their own family. Then came daughter #3. She got dragged around to all of her big sisters’ social events and activities, so there was no time left over to focus on a separate social program for her. I justified this by thinking, She’s got TWO sisters; she’s getting plenty of socialization within our house! The result is that our third daughter has almost no friends her own age. She tags along at her sister’s playdates (“Hey, guys, wait for me!”). We allowed her to invite friends to her third birthday party, and she chose two of her big sisters’ friends, aged five and six. When I take her to activities with her same-aged peers, I know almost none of the other parents or children there, and I don’t make the effort I should to meet them because a) I’m so tired, and b) my social glass is pretty full with the relationships I’ve amassed via our oldest daughters.

I can only imagine how much worse this will be for daughter #4.

The solution to all of the above problems, as with so many problems, is: school. Once our daughters go to school, they’ll each make friends of their own. With one daughter already in kindergarten and one in preschool, it’s increasingly the case that families invite only one of our daughters to play. It’s not quite accurate to call this a “solution,” though, since it turns me into a taxi driver with one drop-off and three unwilling passengers, at least one of whom is screaming, “I want to play, too!” And I realize that, in its final form, this “solution” will have me driving in four different directions, while our house becomes a revolving door to four sets of friends.

None of which really sounds all that bad, especially since by that point I’ll have four girls in school all day long. Vive l’education!