The night Mr. Chaos proposed, I not only celebrated our pending nuptials, I celebrated the end of a life I was relieved to leave behind. I no longer was a single gal stumbling through the dating scene. I knew who I would be kissing on New Year's Eve for the next sixty years, and I loved it. I always wished I could handle the dating scene with the aplomb Carrie Bradshaw does, but alas, I was more of a Charlotte, desperate to find Mr. Right. When I snagged him, I was thrilled.

I never imagined I'd begin dating again 8 years later at 35.

Now don't worry, fair readers, Mr. Chaos and I are doing just fine. I'm not cheating on him in any way. You see, now that we are fully settled here, I've embarked on a new type of dating scene....playdating.

Honestly, in retrospect, I had no idea how great I had it. Men don't pay attention to what you are wearing, unless it's cut low enough to give them a great fantasy, and then they don't give a fig what you say. They don't interpret subtle nuances in how you say thank you. Not to mention those dating rules were fairly simple and straightforward. I knew how to play *that* dating game.

These days, I just feel lost. Getting ready for a playdate with someone for the first time is a nerve-wracking process. Here's how things transpired for one last week.

Kirdy (in bathroom): "Are you trying to look like a whore? Tone it down on the eyeliner. You aren't going clubbing, you're going to the sandbox, ferchrissake. Are you INSANE? Lipstick in the middle of the day? Are you trying to scare her away? Gloss, use gloss. And in the name of all that is holy, don't use anything other than light pink."

In Closet: "Those jeans are too tight. Yes, they make your ass look fabulous, but let's tone it down a bit for the park, shall we? Do you have a khaki skort? Nothing says soccer mom like a khaki skort. Just a T-shirt today. No, not that one, it's too tight. No, that's the wrong color. Don't you have anything suitable in here?"

I won't even get into how much I obsessed with the kids' outfits. Suffice it to say it took us four hours to get ready to go. Play. In the park. Where everyone would get dirty anyway.

The good news is our first play date was a success. But now I am left wondering what the rules of etiquette are. Who calls to schedule the next playdate? How many days should that person wait to call without seeming needy *or* disinterested?

Better yet, how many days until my children are old enough to orchestrate their own social calendars?

In the meantime, what does one give as a token in the play dating scene? If romance in the real dating world is wine and roses, what would the equivalent be in the sandbox circuit?

Handiwipes and PB&J?

Editor's note: Today is LMD's fourth birthday. I would just like to give a quick shout-out to the Diva who makes so many of these posts possible. No, no, no....I love you. And oh yeah, you win. Happy birthday, honey!