When I was growing up, I don’t remember my parents arranging many playdates.
We knocked on a neighbor’s door and asked if their kid could come outside. We rode bikes, wandered around the neighborhood and eventually came home.
Now that I’m the parent, I’ve discovered that my daughter’s social life sometimes requires a surprising amount of socializing from me.
There are texts to send, plans to coordinate and, depending on how old the kids are, the possibility that I’m going to spend the next hour making small talk with another parent I’ve never met.
This is not one of my strengths.
My daughter is actually lucky enough to have a good friend across the street, so we don’t do a huge number of formal playdates. But over the years, I’ve accumulated a few experiences that probably explain why I’m perfectly happy keeping it that way.
The Playdate Where I Stayed
One of my first awkward playdate experiences happened after I declined a birthday party invitation and suggested that our daughters get together another time.
The mom immediately suggested that weekend.
The girls were still young, and I didn’t know the family, so dropping my daughter off didn’t feel like an option. I stayed.
Which meant that while our daughters played, this other mom and I had to figure out what to do with each other.
We tried small talk. I eventually pulled out Disney, which I apparently considered my safest conversational territory.
“We’re not Disney people.”
Well. There went that.
The kids had a perfectly nice time. I spent the hour realizing that arranging a playdate for your child can accidentally result in arranging one for yourself.
The Splash Pad
Another time, we arranged to meet a mom and her daughter at a park. I assumed we were meeting at the playground, so my daughter dressed herself in black leggings, a T-shirt and sneakers.
When we arrived, the other little girl was wearing a swimsuit and coverup. They were planning to go to the splash pad.
Apparently I had missed that part of the plan.
I dug through my car and managed to find a pair of Crocs, so at least my daughter didn’t have to soak her sneakers. I had no swimsuit, no towel and no change of clothes.
The other mom, of course, had everything she needed.
My daughter didn’t particularly care. She went to the splash pad in her clothes and had fun anyway. I was the one standing there wondering how the other mom had gotten the memo that apparently I’d missed.
The Wrong Birthday Party
I now know there is more than one skating rink in town.
We arrived for a birthday party, walked inside and immediately saw parents and kids we knew from school. I remember noticing that some of the kids seemed a year or so younger than my daughter, but that didn’t seem particularly strange. Birthday parties include neighbors, family friends and kids from different grades all the time.
So I said hello to everyone and introduced myself to the host parents. I told them I was planning to drop my daughter off but that they could call me if there were any problems.
Meanwhile, my daughter kept asking where the birthday girl was.
I assumed she was already out skating.
We got my daughter’s skates on. Then another girl from her class arrived with her mom and younger sister.
Her mom knew the host family, and when they realized the hosts didn’t seem to know us or my daughter, she asked me a very important question:
“Are you here for [birthday girl’s] party?”
Yes.
“That party is at the other skating rink.”
Oh.
So the skates came back off. I apologized to the parents—and pretty much everyone else around us—while we made our exit with the party favor my daughter had somehow already acquired.
Then we headed to the other skating rink.
Of all the birthday parties that could have been happening at all the different venues and times around town, there happened to be another party from our school starting at exactly the same time at a different skating rink.
The funny part is that my daughter wasn’t particularly bothered by any of these experiences. She played with the other kids. She got wet in her clothes. She briefly attended the wrong birthday party.
I was the one overthinking the small talk, comparing my lack of a towel to another mom’s preparedness and apologizing to an entire birthday party we weren’t actually invited to.
Maybe that’s the part of modern playdates I wasn’t prepared for. When I was a kid, I just had to show up and play. Now I’m responsible for the texts, the plans, the small talk—and apparently making sure we’re at the correct skating rink.
I’m still working on that last one.
💌 Before You Go…
If you like real-life mom moments, midlife humor, and the messy middle of parenting—you’re in the right place.
Stick around. I’m really glad you’re here.
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