Brandon was 3 the first time another mother called me to schedule a playdate.
"A playdate," I giggled. "That's so clever! Did you make that up yourself?" (The dead silence on the other end of the phone clued me in that I had just made a monumental maternal faux pas that could potentially rival my last monumental maternal faux pas of offering up a bag of artificially colored/flavored Cheetos -- rather than the au natural variety -- to my son's playgroup.) The other mother suddenly had a dire emergency and promised to call back. She didn't.