36 hours plus a date

For those of you who don’t have kids, or if it has been quite some time since you’ve had little kids, or if you have local grandmas and grandpas at the ready; or if you have an obscene amount of money to hire nannies or whatever it is people with obscene amounts of money do, even though I think that only happens to people in the movies…

…then you must not know (or remember), so I’ll tell you, as the parents of any number of children big and small: going out on a date (the pre-prep, the prep, the post-prep, the briefing of the babysitting team, the good-byes and the departure, the journey to and the arrival upon, the execution and the conclusion of) requires an act of God.

I remember once–funny story–when I was fifteen and I took ten whole minutes to leisurely apply strawberry-scented lotion over my arms and legs in preparation to go out.

I admit that was probably the last date I ever went on as a childless human being and I truly DO NOT EVEN KNOW how the other side lives. Like do you take the time to wash your entire body in the shower, including in between your toes and in your belly button? Do you just GO out, like wherever and whenever you want? I bet you don’t even make one peanut-butter and jelly sandwich a week, which is beyond fathom to me.

  
I’ll be sixty years old before I experience this kind of anarchy, and it’ll be awkward…also really cool.

But I digress.

Getting ready for date night is adventurous around my house: Like that time yesterday when I sweated my face off trying to clean the house for the babysitters, and then it rained and my dogs continually tracked in red mud but I kept cleaning it up and they kept tracking it in, and the whole house smelled like wet dog. Or when I got a shower and shaved my legs in record time because Arbor woke up from her nap uncharacteristically early.

I don’t mean to say it was all difficult: Arbor helpfully pitched in by scream-crying and clinging to my leg while I was putting on mascara, simultaneously working out my quads and moisturizing my ashy knees with her tears.

SKILLZ.

I pulled it together long enough to get out the door. I drove in the rain and the dark all the way to OKC. This date night was happening! Here’s a picture of me and my boo lookin’ fresh ta death before hitting the street:

  
Five minutes later, we were out on the town–the BRICKtown!

In the freezing drizzle.

Walking on bricks, in five inch heels.

And yawning uncontrollably.

But we were together, cuddling under our umbrella and gushing  and basically just making haters hate us and also everyone else cause we were that couple.

We decided on KD’s, the place where delicious southern food goes to die (in my belly!), based upon my love of shrimp and grits. We were not disappointed. We ate until we were sick and then called it a cold, dreary, and exhausted night.

It took me all of two minutes to change clothes and conk out until morning. You might say I “fizzled out”.

But that just shows how much you know, because in your parenting years, eating and sleeping take ridonkulous priority over clubbing (which is no bueno for us anyway) any night of the year, and when your kids are doing wheelies off the porch barefoot on scooters, you are very tired mentally, and snoozing to the sound of a lame balls nineties movie on HBO is a damn good time.

Nobody woke us up with a bad dream and no animal scratched at the door to go out fifty-thousand times. I did keep hearing a baby cry but it was probably just my imagination. I slept a sleep of time gone by; and it was pure, and glorious.

Our friends–let me tell you we have some good ones up here–they watched our kids and dogs like total bawsses. And one being a teacher–a kindergarten teacher no less–to volunteer her time away from the classroom to…watch children overnight? That’s the tenth level of unselfishness right there. I love being able to leave our kids with people and knowing–without a single doubt–that everything’s gonna be ok.

And all of the hassle and the stress of an over-night date night with my sweet husband was worth it; way worth it, and long overdue.

And now we are back at home, fielding questions such as: can we have a Chester White pig? Does nail polish come off a concrete floor? Will you make us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? What happens if Arbor ate the mud balls that we made?

  

All is right with the world.

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About Toni

Mom. Wife. Artist. I take care of the kids and pretend to clean sometimes. I can cook spagetti and I have never been arrested. View all posts by Toni

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