I hate the word playdate. It fits in the same category as minivans, mom jeans and dads who wear shorts with knee socks. Before kids I swore I would never use it. It’s hard not to when all the other parents are saying “Let’s plan a playdate!”
Brother B had an extended playdate yesterday with the cute little guy from across the street. After 4 hours, 5 timeouts, 2 changes of clothes and 3 bruises the two boys were sharing and having fun. Everything was great for two and a half minutes. Then the dad came and the playdate was over.