Mona: “Tamar's mother stood angrily at my door, had I really done something wrong?”

Daisy had been nagging for weeks

“When can Tamar finally come for a sleepover, mom?” she asked. Tamar was her best friend from third grade, and they were inseparable. I had put it off long enough. “Alright,” I finally said. “She can come over for a sleepover on Friday, and then we'll do something fun on Saturday.” Daantje was so happy she almost jumped through the roof.

On Friday afternoon, Tamar was already on the doorstep with her small pink backpack

Her mother, a neat woman with always perfectly styled hair, shook my hand and took a moment to tell me what Tamar could and couldn't eat. “No chocolate before bedtime, it makes her hyper,” she said kindly. I nodded and smiled. “It'll be fine.” The girls had the greatest fun. They built a tent out of blankets and pillows in the living room, played school, and giggled until it was time to go to bed. Of course, it took way too long before they actually fell asleep, but I let them be. It was all part of the experience.

The next morning I was up early

I heard little footsteps in the hallway and soft voices. When I walked into the living room, Daantje and Tamar were already sitting at the table, deep in conversation about what they wanted to do that day. “We could go to the petting zoo,” I suggested. They thought that was a great idea. At the petting zoo, the girls immediately ran to the goats. “Look, mommy, this one has a crooked tooth!” Daantje exclaimed as she fed a piece of hay to a goat. Tamar was less enthusiastic. “It's licking my hand!” she screamed, but she laughed about it fortunately. Afterward, they went to the playground. It had rained heavily the night before, so the grass and the sandbox were wet. It didn't take long before the girls had muddy shoes and pant legs.

“Watch out for the puddles, girls!” I called out, but it was already too late

They had run through the puddles in their excitement and were a sight to behold. Mud on their shoes, on their trousers, on their little hands, and even on their faces. I should have stopped them, but to be honest, I also found it quite adorable how they were having fun together. Once home, I sat them both on a stool by the sink. “First, let's wash those hands,” I said as I grabbed a washcloth. Tamar obediently extended her hands, and I scrubbed the mud off. Then I wiped their faces clean with a towel. “There, all done,” I said. They both got clean clothes. Tamar wore an outfit from Daantje – pink leggings and a T-shirt with a rainbow on it. She looked immaculate again.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing quietly indoors

Towards the end of the afternoon, Tamar's mother came to pick her up. "How was it?" she asked as she gave her daughter a kiss on the head. "It was great!" I replied enthusiastically. "We went to the petting zoo, and they had a really good time." I told her about the goats, the playground, and how they ran through the puddles. Tamar's mother raised her eyebrows. "Oh, did they get very dirty?" I looked at her. "Yes, quite," I admitted. "But I washed their hands, wiped their faces clean, and Tamar got clean clothes from Daisy." I laughed a little, but Tamar's mother did not smile back. "I would have preferred if she had been put under the shower," she said, with a polite tone that really left no room for discussion.

I felt my cheeks turning red

“Oh,” I stammered. “Well, I thought this was enough.” She smiled again, but it was such a tight smile. “Have a nice weekend,” she said, as she picked up Tamar’s backpack. When the door closed, I was left with an uneasy feeling. Should I have given them a shower? I looked at Daantje, who was happily coloring, oblivious to any wrongdoing. Maybe Tamar’s mother was right. Or maybe I was just too lenient. But I also knew: if she really thought her daughter needed to be clean after the sleepover, she could do that herself, couldn’t she?

I kept thinking about it for the rest of the day

Was I a bad mother? Did I handle it wrong? But somewhere deep down I also thought: come on, they're kids. They're supposed to get dirty. And if a bit of mud is the worst that happens to them, then it's not too bad. Daantje was sitting next to me, flipping through a picture book. “Mom, when can Tamar sleep over again?” she suddenly asked. I had to laugh. “Let's first see if Tamar's mother thinks that's a good idea,” I replied. Daantje looked at me in surprise. “Why not, mom? It was really fun, wasn’t it?”

I thought of Tamar's mother and her tightly measured smile

It felt as if she had subtly judged me, as if my approach wasn't good enough. But how could I explain that to Daantje? For her, it had been a perfect weekend. I decided that this was something I had to fight out with myself. Meanwhile, I thought about how often I had gotten dirty as a child. I remembered summer days in the mud, my clothes covered in grass and my face smeared with sand. My mother hadn't always put me straight in the shower either. Usually, a washcloth and clean clothes were enough. In fact, I sometimes had to make do with even less. It was a comforting thought.

The next morning I saw a message from Tamar's mother

“Thank you for having Tamar over to stay. She had a great time! Maybe next time at our place?” I sighed with relief.

MONA