Date Night

It is a rare and wondrous thing, going on a date, something that requires the careful forgetting of everything I am supposed to be doing in order to disappear for a few hours and enjoy myself. Not that sitting at home doing the dishes isn't fun, but... well, the occasional dinner not fixed my me and a movie I haven't already seen ten thousand times are kind of special.

The way it begins is standing around in the kitchen, cooking slop for the masses. The elusive date partner happens to be nearby and the topic of what to do for the evening comes up (he brought it up, not me. For some reason, I don't wonder what I'm going to do each night because I'm always doing it.) The subject of movies comes out, along with a couple of titles playing in theaters that I actually want to see--Hollywood makes a few of those every now and again.

"Will you go?" he asks, to which I reply yes, after checking the clock. It's 5:30.

By six, I've fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and left specific instructions with the sitter, who (much to her dismay) happens to be my first-born. Out we go, into the frigid night. I'm not exactly dressed for a night out, or to be seen for that matter, but I'm smiling insanely any way. In the car, the discussion turns to which theater we will visit. X is closer, but Y's movie begins sooner... blah, blah, blah. I don't care, so long as we get there before the movie begins. The atmosphere is in no way romantic as we discuss bills, dental appointments, and other mundane aspects of life. But we're holding hands, so cover your eyes.

The details following are neither exciting nor important. Suffice it to say, we saw a great movie, had a good time, and drove home safely several hours later. At 10:30, we pull into the driveway. The house is still there--always a good sign. All the lights are on, but there are no police or rescue vehicles, so the night is a success. Inside, children are running like mad, shrieking for joy (don't know why) except for the one who, for no reason, became ill the moment I left the house. Go figure. The baby's diaper has not been changed, his pajamas are soaked through. The bathroom shows evidence of sickly visits, and all the unsickly are crawling out of the woodwork to express their joy at my return, their dismay at not being taken along, their complaints of what happened in my absence (so and so did such and such). The babysitter is surfing the web, oblivious to all.

I hear none of them in the din, but head for the kitchen to put away food and perform necessary prep work for the cleaning that will consume most of the next day, and the next, and on and on for probably a week. The magic words of 'Go to bed' ring from my mouth, and peace settles over the world once again. Some time later, as I fall into bed, I think I muttered my gratitude for the short reprieve from 'mommy', but it was probably so softly that nobody heard.

So, once again, for the record: Thank you, honey. Are you free tonight?