Date Night

Remember when you first got married, pre-kids, and you and your significant other would just “go out to dinner” or “see a movie” or “get some drinks”? If things got crazy, you might even “hit up a festival” or “listen to some live music” (which usually led to “waiting in line at Qdoba” and “spending the next day on the couch”).

It wasn’t a special occasion, and it typically happened multiple times a week (the going to dinner or drinks, not the spending the next day on the couch. Most of the time. Usually.)

Now, we have kids and responsibilities. And we have “date night.” An event that must be planned at least several days in advance – more if your parents are all out of town and you have to have your act together enough to secure a babysitter. They certainly don’t happen multiple times a week anymore. In fact, a date night a week would be rare (don’t judge all you ‘we make sure to have one night a week together’-ers.  My husband travels a lot, he’s super-cheap and our kids are crazy. We’re tired!). Not that I’m complaining. Don’t get me wrong. I love me some Derrick Feldmann and we always have a great time on our dates, but it’s a lot more work on my end than just hopping in the shower and putting on a cute outfit. Part of that being trying to fit into said cute outfit. But I digress.

So, we had a date night on Saturday. With an actual babysitter, and actual grown-up dressy clothes. And adult conversation. And beverages.

But, just to be sure the night was going to go well (and also probably to ensure that I didn’t forget what and who was MOST important), this happened as we were getting ready to leave. Literally getting ready to walk out the door. Our babysitter is actually standing about 5 feet away from me here:

I’m not too sure of this doctor’s skills. She shuts her eyes tight when examining me. Also? When I asked her how the exam went, she looked me in the eye and said “Es ovah, Mama.” Soooo … the exam is over? It’s over for me? I don’t understand, and she was NOT forthcoming. Her bedside manner sucks.

Also, I’m pretty sure my kids LOVE when we have a date night, because staying up past 11:00 pm means we are both exhausted the next day. It also doesn’t help that they both woke up at 6:00 am the next morning. Oh, and that when I told my husband I still had the headache I’d been fighting for more than 24 hours (glad it wasn’t an aneurism, or that cute little doctor would have one HELL of a lawsuit on her hands) he gave me 2 Tylenol. Let me be more specific. He gave me 2 TYLENOL PM. At 6:15 in the morning. I felt drugged. I mean, I was, right? (Yet somehow he ended up being the one who took a three hour nap that day.)
Anywoo, I’m off topic. Surprise.
Our girls LOVE lazy days in our bed … and I’m not going to lie, I do too. They are in their cozy jammies, they smell like the syrup they had on their waffles at breakfast, and I usually get to read an entire magazine while they play or watch shows. Yeppers. We are SUPER good parents. No crafts here! Go watch TV!
Here is what I saw when I pried my eyes open long enough to see what was happening:
Ahhh, the Feldmanns love technology! Also, please note the small timer on the nightstand. The girls were fighting (literally pulling hair and hitting) over my iPad and my phone (Daddy would not share). So I got the kitchen timer so they could rest assured that they were having equal turns. Plus, it scares the bejeezus out of them both each time it buzzes … which is just funny.


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