Honestly, I can’t stand the term “playdate.” It feels wrong to label children’s play with the word “date.” Kids should just enjoy playing freely, preferably outdoors or at a friend’s house. Whatever happened to being kicked outside by your mom to entertain yourself on a rusty swing set with your sibling?
My weekends as a child were predictable. Every Saturday, my sister and I would wake up at the crack of dawn, watch cartoons like The Smurfs and The Flintstones, and make a mess in the basement. After breakfast, which marked the end of leisure time, we were immediately assigned chores.
We’d be sent downstairs (complaining was not an option) to dismantle the Barbie village we had so carefully constructed earlier. After tidying up our rooms and polishing furniture, our “reward” was being locked out of the house to play. My children, however, will not have those same unstructured experiences.
Instead, they will remember a childhood filled with planned activities. My first child, Emma, certainly will. I dove headfirst into the world of playdates, joining every group I could find in our area, looking for camaraderie and adult conversation. What I encountered, however, resembled more of a peace summit among demanding little dictators and endless discussions about the best sippy cups or strollers available.
During the typical two-hour playdate, I found myself trailing behind the kids, cleaning up crushed snacks and retrieving toys, when all I really wanted was to relax on the couch with a drink and chat with other moms. Strangely, none of the other mothers seemed interested in relaxing, and I got the sense that starting a cocktail hour at 10 a.m. was frowned upon. I was willing to wait until 11, but that idea never gained traction.
Then there were the unsolicited playdates. More than once, children would invite themselves over without my prior knowledge. A parent would ask me what time they should pick up their child after I had unknowingly become the host of a playdate. I assumed it was a misunderstanding, but one time, a mother bluntly asked if her son could come to my house to play with mine. I was taken aback and had to decline.
Eventually, the day arrived when my kids could play independently. I was excited until I realized I was now responsible for more than just my own two. One friend didn’t like the snack I offered and asked for alternatives. Another child opened my refrigerator without permission and helped themselves. Then there was the instance when a friend of my son refused to call me “Mrs. Matthews,” despite my repeated corrections.
I still struggle to comprehend why kids can’t just go outside to play like we used to. My home is conveniently located near three boys from my son’s class, and my daughter is old enough to walk to her friends’ houses. Yet, no one seems to take the initiative. Perhaps I should equip my kids with smartphones to schedule their outdoor playtime. After all, playdates seem to require a calendar now.
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In summary, the joy of spontaneous outdoor play seems to have been lost in today’s world of scheduled playdates. While I appreciate the effort to foster friendships, the casual fun we experienced as children is now replaced with structured activities and obligations.