Bad Vibes and Birthday Cake

Five years ago, my little guy was two and a half and went to a childminder three mornings a week. She was this awesome American lady who had up to five kids at a time, and my little guy loved it there. There was a younger kid, about 18 months old, and his mum suggested we start having playdates outside of their mornings.

Language Lessons and Lockdown Fun

My daughter, meanwhile, was in her last year of kindergarten, about to start school in September. She only spoke English at her bilingual forest kindergarten, so we arranged extra weekly lessons at the primary school associated with her kindergarten. It was called Sprachakrobaten, which sounds fancy but was honestly pointless. This was 2020, in the depths of lockdown, and she had to sit alone on a cushion while the indoor kindergarten kids got to sit closer. Just lovely.

So off we went for a playdate with the little boy. We rang the bell, and a girl opened the door, shot my daughter a weird look, and ran off. My daughter looked up at me and said, “I know her, she’s in Sprachakrobaten with me.” Double playdate, I thought. Brilliant!

The mum, originally from Belarus, spoke excellent English. Her husband was Scottish but grew up in Germany. Typical expat mix: no one you meet is just one thing. Their flat was a freezing cold ground floor of an old villa, even in winter with the windows open. I powered through for the kids’ sake, but wow, it was brrrr.

The boys didn’t really click because of the age gap, but the mum kept pushing the playdates anyway. She even baked a cake and threw a little party for my son’s birthday, which was honestly weird given we barely knew each other. Was she trying to buy my friendship?

The Tiny Tyrant

Meanwhile, my daughter kept getting dragged into the girl’s room, let’s call her Sarah. She was a pint-sized tyrant. My daughter would look at me with pleading eyes whenever Sarah tried to haul her off to her room. Once, Sarah’s mum insisted they play in the living room instead of her room. Sarah responded by screaming like a banshee and slamming doors until the glass rattled. Her dad would occasionally emerge from his office, whispering apologetically, but no one seemed to be doing anything about their tiny dictator. Her tantrums came with the playdates, and I honestly didn’t know how to deal with it, and was horrified that her parents didn’t do a thing to stop her. Nothing. Nada.

Birthday Party Disaster

Eventually, I started pulling back from playdates. Corona was a perfect excuse — thank you, global pandemic, for providing a socially acceptable out. But then the birthday invitation came. It was going to be held at an outdoor space in the forest, a beautiful spot with a fire pit and a little wooden stage. My daughter didn’t want to go. I insisted she should. Famous last words.

Sarah’s birthday party was a nightmare. She opened my daughter’s gift, scoffed, “I already have one like this,” and threw it aside with a smirk. Her parents did nothing, my daughter looked so upset as she’d helped choose the present. Then she picked out a few other gifts with the same disdain, but only from kids who weren’t her ‘best friends.’ Divide and conquer, apparently.

Mean Girls, Kid Edition

My daughter spent the whole time by my side, which suited me just fine. She didn’t play with the others because she wasn’t ‘allowed’ to. Bitch. I told her we’d leave after food. She clung to me, clearly miserable, but I was trying to be polite and wait for cake, because no one wants to be the parent who bails before cake. Plus, it was a 20-minute walk back to the car. I felt like we needed the strength.

The kids decided to perform something on the stage. As they walked over, Sarah announced, “Everyone can come on stage! Oh, except you.” And pointed right at my daughter. Did she take lessons in villainy or something?

Mama Bear Emerges

I told Sarah not to be mean. She scowled but grudgingly allowed my girl onstage. My daughter stood there, crushed. It was the final straw. Mama Bear came out with a vengeance. I grabbed our things and left, raging all the way home. How could I let my kid be treated like that? I’d promised to protect her, and instead, I dragged her into Mean Girls, Kid Edition.

I cut off contact. Blocked Sarah’s mum’s number. Years later, my daughter still remembers the party and how cruel Sarah was. The kicker? Her best friend from forest kindergarten ended up going to the same primary school and, surprise, became Sarah’s new best friend.

The Gift That Keeps On Giving

For the next two birthdays, my daughter had to face Sarah again. But I was always there, shielding her like the Mama Bear I have (mostly) become. Sarah seemed a bit better, but I could sense the meanness lingered just below the surface. She just got better at hiding it.

Our friends eventually moved back to the US. No more Sarah, no more birthday parties. But the memory still sticks.

I’ve apologised to my daughter over and over. And I’ve learned to listen better. Some kids aren’t just ‘kids being kids’ — they’re tiny, toxic tyrants. And we shouldn’t ignore our gut when it tells us to steer clear.

Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed this and would like to buy me a coffee, you can do so here.