Margaritaville

Temperatures in the 80s, sunshine and a great breeze: today was the beginning of summer in Chicago. To celebrate, a mommy friend in the neighborhood hosted a "margarita and popsicle" playdate this afternoon.

Now despite not being able to have a margarita, it was an incredibly satisfying outing for several reasons.

First, my friend has a small, fenced-in yard. So we could plop the kids down on the grass and not worry about chasing them hither and yon. Second, they had a blow-up pool. You would think letting my kids get soaking wet in their clothes would send my eye a-twitchin' but you would be wrong. Third, with 13 kids 3 years and younger, there were enough children running around that no one noticed my older one caking mud on himself and my younger one eating sidewalk chalk. Fourth, it took place at the Witching Hour of 4 p.m. And every mom knows the worst time of day for parents is the hour right before dinner.

The moms hung out, with drinks and celebrity gossip ("Jon and Kate Plus Eight" marriage scandal, y'all!,) and the kids played in the pool and ate watermelon and popsicles and juice. Water was thrown around, mud puddles were jumped in and everyone went home with red juice stains around his or her mouth.

It was chill and just before dinnertime, we all departed for our respective houses. No fights, no crying, no hitting. In my book, that's a successful playdate. Especially with 13 kids.

If only I could haven had a margarita...