Knock on Doors
Yep. That’s what I did six years ago when I was stuck home with a fussy baby and going absolutely crazy. I walked around the neighborhood knocking on every porch that held a stroller. “You in there. I know you have kids. You want to be my friend?” I might have been a tad more subtle, but not much. I hung up signs in coffee shops, in office supply shops, and I told EVERYONE WITH A KID AND THEIR FRIENDS AND RELATIVES that I was started a playgroup on Wednesday mornings, 9 a.m., coffee and doughnuts when I felt generous, to try to regain my sanity. It lasted a year. Every bloody Wednesday it was at my house. Did I try to get other moms to host? Yes. My request was denied, so I finally had enough. But by then, I had found three really good mom friends to whine and laugh with, so I didn’t care about the other guys who had to find a new home to wreck.
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