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: