Last night Otto and I went out on a date. A DATE. LIKE ADULTS. It was very exciting, because I don’t know if you know this, but it is very easy to get caught up in work and kids and life and leaky pools (still leaking!) and strawberries and “there’s nothing on TV… oh WAIT, have you seen that Netflix has this ENTIRE SERIES here??” and forget to do things like this whole mythical “nurture your marriage” deal.
Speaking as someone whose second job has become pulling weeds and harvesting snap peas, I often wish I could just water Otto and pull on… wait. This metaphor is going someplace too inappropriate even for me. NEVERMIND.
The point is that I am still very fond of this here guy who keeps stealing the covers at night, and APPARENTLY we need to do more than watch television together to keep our love healthy, or something. So we went out without children.
We went out to dinner and listened to live music and ran into people we knew and had a lovely time. It was a full hour out of the house before Monkey called to complain about Chickie, and just a few text messages after that when order was restored, and they didn’t burn the house down or anything. (Though note that during the show’s intermission I texted Chickie to ask how things were at home, and she replied, “We are deaded.” I told her that was very convenient because it meant we could stay out later, and she was not amused. I cannot imagine why not.)
So we ate delicious food while the children had cookies for dinner, or maybe they actually cooked something else, too, if the state of the kitchen upon our return was any indication. Otto had a big piece of pie and I had a tall drink that was listed as “cherry limeade” but was basically “pink alcohol.” The music was fantastic, the company was great, and my date was totally cute.
At the end of the evening we left, walking hand-in-hand out to the car, talking about how we should really do this sort of thing more often. It’s SO MUCH FUN and why does it seem so hard to schedule these rare nights out? Theoretically the kids are okay on their own for a few hours, so we should really try to make this a more regular thing. We drove home feeling blissful and rejuvenated.
Upon our arrival back home, we found Licorice VERY happy to discover we were still alive, Monkey was in bed, and Chickadee was watching television and scolding us for staying out “so late.” (It was not yet 10:00.) We managed to shoo her off to bed, and then perhaps the evening could’ve continued in its previous cozy vein, except about five minutes later the girlchild was back down the stairs again, rummaging around in the kitchen. It seems that while everything was “fine and totally under control,” no one let the dog out all night. So Licorice just did what she needed to do… in Chickadee’s room.
Kind of a mood-buster. “The Resolve’s under the sink,” I called out, helpfully.
“I’ve got it,” she replied, heading back upstairs.
She came back down again a few minutes later. “Everything all cleaned up?” I asked.
“I’d say it’s all Resolved, but that would be too punny,” she told me, flashing a grin, dumping the cleaning supplies, and twirling back up the stairs again.
Otto and I sat there in companionable silence for a few minutes. “So we can go out, but everything here pretty much… stays the same,” he observed.
Still, I’ll take the night out, even if it ends with dog pee. I mean, I wouldn’t stitch that on a pillow or anything, but you know. This is what passes for romance at our advanced age.