“Hi! I’m Susan, Danny’s mom — the boys go to UMAC together. Would you guys like to meet up at Play Place this weekend?”
It was the first playdate invitation I’d gotten since Oscar started kindergarten. We’d been in Ardsley for three and a half years by then. With the pandemic and a newborn baby… the transition from Brooklyn to the ’burbs had never really taken off. Casual chats in the preschool parking lot were cut short by packed work schedules and the foggy fear of getting sick. Outdoor playgrounds were taped off. Toddler activities were either cancelled or too risky or too annoying. (Remember trying to keep face masks on 2-year-olds?!?!)
Everyone said it would change once he got into school. Oscar would make friends, and we’d meet other parents at school events, but it had been a few months and our calendar was still bare. If it weren’t for our truly excellent bus stop community, we wouldn’t have known anyone at all.
So when I got that text from Susan, I was so excited to meet another mom and make family friends I replied practically before she hit send.
We got there that Saturday and found them in line to pay. The boys ran off and Susan and I looked for a place to sit down in the cafe: empty tables scattered with coats and half-eaten squeeze packets of applesauce, anchored by an occasional parent shifting uncomfortably in a metal folding chair, dissociating on their phone.
“WHAT ABOUT HERE?” Susan pointed to the open end of a picnic table. She had to shout, because Play Place is in a giant warehouse that transforms the sound of children playing into a screech that could strip paint. For two hours we tried to connect over the noise and distraction — repeating ourselves, smiling to cover words we hadn’t quite heard and stopping whenever one of the boys needed a snack or a trip to the bathroom or was “bored.”
Two hours later I left with a headache and no relationship to Susan. Is this it??? I thought helplessly on the drive home. Back in Brooklyn a lot of our friends had babies around the same time we did so we’d just bring them along when we wanted to hang out. To the pub, casual restaurants, the park, the museum. They played, we talked. Everyone was happy. Since moving, hanging out with another family means scheduling it a month in advance, cancelling twice and somehow ending up at a trampoline park.
The Big Move
I grew up in the Atlanta suburbs and had sworn never to return … until I spent 8 months hauling a stroller up and down the stairs of the Atlantic Avenue subway station. We would come up here on weekends and weave through the green shaded streets. I was struck by the natural beauty, but I couldn’t shake the feeling we were trading community for convenience. I actually remember finding the HudCo website and showing my husband — this could work! There were people like us here.
And I was right. Even before I became an official member, HudCo has been the place where I’ve met my most like-minded friends. Yes it’s a gorgeous place to work, but the magic is in the mix of opportunities they create for real connection and the collection of talented, passionate people it draws in.
I want to hang out and talk about music or TV or what Brad said in the meeting last Thursday and select from a menu where the food is not entirely dinosaur shaped. I want my kid to grow up in rooms full of adults who love him even though they aren’t related to him. I want him to see adulthood as more than an unending cycle of schlepping for your boss and then schlepping for your kids.
HudCo gave me a place to be as a professional. I hope NewFriends can be that place for parents (and their kids). Selfishly, because I’ve realized home is much more about the people you’re with than the place you are. Culturally, because parenting in isolation is burning us all out.
At the start of our March hike, we were working on getting the kids comfortable with the babysitters and many of the children were having a tough time. Every family I checked in with told me the same thing:
“He just has a hard time with [insert normal childhood fear]!” as though it was a personal failing that their child was nervous about being left alone with a stranger. As though their child was the only one having a hard time! Everyone seemed so worried about their family being an inconvenience — so embarrassed about what was, to me as an outsider, normal kid stuff.
I totally get why. American culture (and our social system) runs on the belief that if you can’t do it alone, something is wrong with you. Among the many consequences of that stupid idea is a nation of families who feel simultaneously like they’re doing everything wrong AND asking for help makes them bad parents.
Running these parties has given me an incredible gift — exposure to a lot of other people’s weird and wonderful kids. I’ve learned that my kid isn’t more emotional or more of a pain (or more perfect!) than anyone else’s.
For example, I now know that every kid, given the opportunity, would very much like to roll across the dirty floor, take six juice boxes just for themselves and see how loud they can shout BUTTS! right after you told them to be quiet. I’m not saying my kid doesn’t need to be corrected! I am saying of course he does, he’s a kid. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.
I cherish my kid. The best moments in my life are the ones where he and I have fun together with our friends. So that’s what I’m trying to do with NewFriends. We organize parties around an activity both kids and grownups will enjoy (dance parties! hikes! crafternoons! lawn parties!) bring in good food and enough local babysitters so grown-ups can complete their sentences.
It’s just once a month right now while we figure out which experiences and formats work best but as our community grows you can expect a schedule of regular, recurring experiences you can count on for a good hang.
This Month
We’re hosting a lawn party at Wickers Creek Market on June 22! Because vintage markets are super fun unless you’re worried your kid is going to break stuff. Come relax in the parent lounge from 10-4 — we’ll have seating and lawn games for adults and a professionally staffed kid-zone (they will be too busy to bother you!!) with different programming on the hour. Compete to win the prize for the dumbest thing your kid has cried about!
Space is limited and spots are going fast — I usually have to close sales early, so don’t miss out. RSVP here!
Subscribe to the newsletter on Substack for early access to tickets and follow us on social because this is the timeline we live in and I can’t change it.
Have ideas? Wanna talk about how much Play Place sucks? DMs are open!