If I’m being honest, I can’t help but cringe at the term “playdate.” To me, the idea of scheduling playtime feels entirely unnecessary. Kids should simply play—preferably outdoors or at a friend’s house. Remember the days when kids were told to go outside and play until dinner? I often think back to my own childhood, when my sister and I would be kicked out of the house and left to entertain ourselves on the rusty swing set in the backyard.
Growing up, Saturdays were a predictable affair. My sister and I would wake up at the crack of dawn, watch cartoons like The Smurfs and The Flintstones, and create a chaotic mess in the basement. Once my mom called us for breakfast, it was time to switch gears—chores awaited us. We’d begrudgingly dismantle our elaborate Barbie setups, dust every surface in our rooms, mop the floors, and vacuum, all before being set loose outside to play. Those are experiences my children won’t know.
Instead, my kids seem destined for a world of organized playtime. I recall my first child’s early years fondly, when I was fully invested in the playdate culture. I joined every playgroup I could find, hoping for a sense of community and engaging conversation. What I ended up with, however, felt more like navigating a minefield of demanding little rulers and endless discussions about the merits of various sippy cups and jogging strollers.
Typically, a playdate lasts about two hours, during which I found myself trailing behind the kids, cleaning up spilled snacks and gathering toys. All I wanted was to relax on the couch with a drink and chat with other parents. However, it seemed everyone had their priorities straight—10 a.m. cocktails were clearly frowned upon. I was willing to compromise and suggest a breakfast happy hour, but that idea never really took off.
Then there were those unexpected playdates I never agreed to. More than once, an invitation would come from a tiny voice asking if they could come over to play, only for the child’s parent to turn to me and ask what time they should pick them up. Excuse me? Since when does the guest invite themselves? At one point, a parent directly asked if my son could have a playdate at my house. I was taken aback, trying to process this odd turn of events before I kindly had to decline.
The moment finally arrived when my children could play with friends without needing parental supervision. I was excited until I realized I was now responsible for more than just my two. One little guest even rejected the snack I provided, asking for alternatives, while another felt it was perfectly fine to rummage through my refrigerator without permission. Then there was the incident in the bathroom, where one friend had an accident and didn’t want to come out.
I still struggle to accept that 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. But somehow, no one seems to do that anymore. It feels like every outing requires a playdate to be scheduled. Perhaps I should send my kids to school with smartphones to pencil in their outdoor playtime.
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In summary, the modern playdate phenomenon leaves me longing for the simpler days of unstructured play. While organized outings may have their place, nothing compares to the free play of childhood that fosters imagination and independence.
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