I AM a cougar on the prowl for the perfect date. For my son, that is.

Before I had kids, I had no idea that play dates had to be organised.

I mean, you just played with your sibling/cousin/neighbour/ the girl who didn't seem to belong to anyone lurking about downstairs, right?

It's a sign of our helicopterparenting (read: hovering) times, that the concept of the "play date" has flourished.

Not content to managing other aspects of our children's lives, from pre-school education to organic diets, we try to organise their social calendar as well - hoping to match them up with peers that meet our approval.

You know the signs. As soon as you meet a friend with a child around the same age as yours, your heart starts pounding faster, your palms become sweaty.

As you start chit-chatting with the other mummy, you subtly propel junior in the direction of his counterpart. If he seems shy or reluctant, you silence his resistance with a "GO PLAY" stare.

Out of the corner of your eye, while still participating in the mum-teraction, you observe how the kids are getting along.

Should you like what you see, the next step is to work up the courage to pop the question casually:

"Uh, so, do you want to come over for a play date?"

In the past, I thought I was a democratic play-dater. Come one, come all, to play with my elder son Julian! Babies who want to play alongside my younger son Lucien, almost a year old, step right up!

I loved watching Julian make new friends at playgrounds, at the mall, on field trips and during ad hoc activities.

We went to visit my old classmates and their daughters, romped in the pool with them, and ate animal pasta while sitting cross-legged among toys in living rooms.

Our hesitant overtures to other small boys in his pre-school were accepted, and many a happy, chaperoned afternoon ensued, with my son hosting his school friends at home, where they ran amok over his train set.

But, of late, I have realised that, awful as it sounds, some play dates are better than others.

Just as the process of finding a soulmate of marriage material is a fraught one, leading to the infernal dating game, the play-dating scene is also one in which complex considerations operate.

For starters, kids come in all sorts of shape, size and temperament.

No two are the same, and few are fully compatible.

Julian, who takes a really long time to warm up to others, plays best with kids who are gregarious. A bossy fellow, he loves to take charge in a play situation, directing make-believe games and putting people in their places.

Hence, an easy-going playmate would be more suited than another alpha-kid, who might end up locked in a confrontation with him. Alternatively, an older and wiser kid will also be a good match, a Big Brother or Sister for Julian to look up to, with loads of exciting ideas to keep him too enthralled to be difficult.

Then, there's the plug-andplay factor of the playmate's parent or parents. Am I able to yak for hours with his or her mummy, discussing topics from pedagogy and poetry to a shared passion for online shopping?

Does said mummy have a similar set of values and beliefs to mine, to prevent red-faced moments, say, when I accidentally "expose" her absolutely- no-TV-at-home-ruled child to some cartoons on my telly during the play date?

Do we share the same approach to disciplining and motivating our children? Are the dads able to get on swimmingly, bonding over beer and shop talk as their sons built a fort under the table?

Even if, by some confluence of stars, both sets of kids and parents get along, some things can still go awry.

There are important details to be sussed out and considered, such as distance (proximity of our homes) and schedules (Busy working professionals? Almost impossible to schedule meet-ups).

At the end of the day, however, I have discovered that, as my kids get older, I will have less and less control over who they meet and befriend.

I admit that my bigger son has friends I am relatively less thrilled about, compared to others - boys who consistently play rough, speak deliberately fractured English, and are rude and disruptive - simply because they bring out the worst in Julian.

But, as the oft-heard refrain goes, boys will be boys. And what more boys less than 10 years old?

Besides, the day will come when a companion handpicked by Mum will seem supremely uncool to any self-respecting boys' boy, about to become a men's man.

When that day comes, I'll go back to looking for friends my own age.

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