I have an aversion to the term “playdate.” To me, play should not be something that requires scheduling or formalities. Children should play freely, ideally outdoors or at a friend’s home. Whatever happened to the carefree days of being sent outside to play with a sibling on an old swing set?
Reflecting on my own childhood, every Saturday was a predictable routine. My brother and I would wake up at the crack of dawn, enjoy cartoons like The Smurfs and The Flintstones, and create chaos in the basement. Breakfast marked the transition to chores, which we could not protest. We begrudgingly dismantled our elaborate Lego cities and cleaned our rooms in hopes of being released outdoors to play.
Unfortunately, my children will not share those same spontaneous memories. Instead, they will recall meticulously arranged playtimes. In my first experience of motherhood, I embraced the concept of playdates wholeheartedly. I joined countless playgroups, seeking connection and adult conversation. Instead, I found myself navigating negotiations between tiny tyrants and engaging in detailed discussions about the latest sippy cups or strollers.
The typical two-hour playdate involved me trailing behind the children, cleaning up spilled snacks and gathering lost toys, while I longed to relax on the couch with a drink and chat with fellow moms. Strangely, these moms seemed uninterested in sharing a laugh over our challenges, and there was an unspoken rule that morning hours were too early for cocktails. I envisioned a “brunch happy hour” but that idea never gained traction.
Moreover, I often found myself hosting playdates I had not agreed to. On more than one occasion, other children would invite themselves over, and I would be left wondering how I became the host. I would grant permission for my child to play, only to be asked by the other parent what time to pick up their child. The expectation that I would host was baffling. I had to decline an invitation from a mother who directly asked if her son could come over to play, leaving me momentarily speechless.
Eventually, the day arrived when my children could play with friends independently. Initially, this was a relief, but I quickly realized I was now responsible for more than just my own kids. One young guest expressed dissatisfaction with the snack I provided and requested alternatives. Another boldly rummaged through my refrigerator without permission. There was also a time when a friend refused to address me properly, despite my corrections, and another child had an accident in my bathroom and wouldn’t come out.
It is hard to accept that children today seem unable to play outside without a structured plan. My home is conveniently located near several classmates of my son, and my daughter is now old enough to walk to her friends’ houses. Yet, no one seems to venture out to play without a scheduled arrangement. Perhaps I should equip my kids with devices to coordinate their playdates, ensuring they pencil in their social activities.
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In summary, the evolution of playdates from spontaneous outdoor play to meticulously scheduled events has stripped away the joy of unstructured childhood experiences. While I appreciate the intent behind playdates, I long for the simplicity of past times when play was just that—play.