The Profound Planning Of A Playdate
Growing up, playdates weren’t a word, let alone a thing. Back in the olden days, before cell phones, before the Internet, when Lotus 1-2-3 ruled the software world, as a kid you just walked or biked over to a friend’s house to see if they wanted to do something. The extent of the communication with the parents was “Hey, I’m going over to David’s house!” as you ran out the door. In fact, informing the parents was completely optional.
So these days, I have always felt a bit intimidated by the whole playdate process. I assumed that my wife and I would coordinate with the parents ahead of time to match schedules and confirm that a parent was there, but what else was supposed to happen? Did we need to fill out a questionnaire about possible dangerous items in the house, like firearms, alcohol, or malfunctioning farm equipment? Did we need to have a background check and 3 references ready? Did a building inspector need to do a walk-through of the house?
For some reason, I envisioned a lot of forms, lawyers, and bitter social media posts. I don’t know why. Maybe I was thinking it would be the same as the NFL off-season or something.
My daughter had been a playdate once in the past eight years, and in that case it was her friend that invited her over for a day in the summer. The friend’s Mom had approached us about it and laid out a proposed agenda and menu plan, to which I merely nodded in agreement. Didn’t really have to put much thought into it.
About a week ago, though, my daughter wanted to be the one to ask a friend for a playdate. It was one of the kids on our street that she rides the school bus with, named Tristan. My daughter told me that they would talk on the bus, but he was in 5th grade so they never saw each other in school to play.
My wife and I know Tristan’s parents from our quality time together at the bus stop, where we discuss matters of grave importance like if the bus is late, if it’s going to be raining this weekend, and (totally harmless) speculation about other parents who are currently absent. Hence, I told my daughter a playdate was fine with me, but I made sure she knew that she needed to be the one to ask Tristan; I and my wife were not going to approach the parents first. After all, this is the 21st century: there will be no “arranged playdates” in this household, thank you very much. My daughter is almost 9-years old, and doesn’t need parental interference about whom she will or will not engage in playtime with!
Ahem. I digress.
So, when I picked my daughter up from the bus on Friday and we were walking back to the house next to Tristan and his mom, she asked about the playdate.
And, kid you not, this was the extent of the conversation between Tristan’s mom and me:
TRISTAN’S MOM: Oh sure, that would be nice!
ME: Okay, cool. When would be a good time?
TRISTAN’S MOM: Well he is busy tomorrow with soccer.
ME: Okay. Sunday?
TRISTAN’S MOM: That works.
ME: Okay. Maybe around noonish?
TRISTAN’S MOM: Yeah.
ME: Okay.
TRISTAN’S MOM: Okay.
And that was it. I was a little stunned. Like, seriously? That’s all it takes? Did I miss a memo or something? This was a lot easier than I thought it would be.
So, come Sunday, we made it a family endeavor and my wife and I took the arduous journey of walking three whole houses down to drop our daughter off.
Our first thought upon entering the house was that we really need to clean up our own house if our daughter was ever going to be hosting a playdate. Don’t get me wrong: my wife and I maintain a high standard of cleanliness, so much so that leftover food only remains downstairs in front of the television for no more than eight days, and I vacuum my office at least once every six months, but all the same, the clutter creep is a very real thing in our house.
But, there is an easy solution: I will merely forbid my daughter from ever having friends over. Boom. My problem went away.
In any case, we dropped my daughter off at noon and picked her up a little after 2 PM. It was a short playdate, but I felt like that was better to be too short than too long. The kids had a lot of fun, apparently playing Mario kart with Tristan’s younger brother. My daughter came in third place, however, so I will need to assign some homework to her about the proper methods for Mario Kart drifting.
We’ll see when she looks for another playdate with Tristan – but I was surprised to learn it might actually be a little sooner than later, as Tristan’s mom told my wife and I that my daughter had, entirely on her own initiative, written a poem for Tristan earlier in the year.
What? A poem? Did she tell me she was writing him a poem? Did she tell my wife she was writing a poem? What the hell is going on here? Do we need to start expecting a promise ring or something?
Next time, I am definitely doing a background check on all parties, especially my daughter, before agreeing to anything.