Date night dissolution

The hubby and I had a date night planned this weekend.  The best part about date night, in my opinion, is that you get to miss the whole dinner/bedtime debacle.  The hours between 5-8 pm are, without fail, the most difficult for me as a mother.  I just don’t enjoy that time of day.  Even on the weekends when I am not as fatigued as I am after working all day, some kind of strange black magic takes over in our house and everyone gets cranky and nobody’s ears work and messes get messier and bedtimes creep later and children move at the speed of sloths and I just. can’t. take. it.  Add in the fact that you have to make dinner, clean up from dinner, and 5 out of 7 nights also nag kids to do homework and practice their instruments, then chase them into the shower, well–fuggedaboutit.  

But when it is date night I hire a teenager who comes to my house at 5:30 pm and feeds them hot dogs or soup from a can and plays with them and puts them to bed.  This is cause for happiness on both sides of the equation, because our kids love the teenage girls that babysit for us, and we love escaping the witching hour.  The babysitter always asks us when we are leaving what time we will be home, which I suppose is a valid question when I think about it rationally, but also–who is she, my mother??  I’ll come home when I’m good and ready.  Geez.  OK, 9:30 at the latest, I need my beauty sleep.

We were kind of aimless about our plans for date night this week, and at a loss about what to do with ourselves.  We had wanted to do something outside but the weather wasn’t cooperating, so all we had figured out is that we were going to go out to eat somewhere, and then hopefully find something else to do so that we didn’t get home before bedtime because–hello!– let’s get our money’s worth out of the babysitter!

I got dressed up really cute.  I have been following this fashion blogger on social media, and she is always putting up these cute little outfits with links to where to buy everything, which really takes the guess-work out of being fashionable.  I put on actual pants.  With a button.  On a weekend.  They weren’t even leggings sneakily devised to look like pants.  I was really working it.

I looked at the clock and realized that the sitter was 10 minutes late, which was weird, because she was always on time.  We texted her, and she answered back that she was so sorry, she totally forgot, and also she was sick today so she couldn’t come anyway.  At the same exact moment that this text conversation was happening, my daughter started yelling for me to come upstairs quick, because she had diarrhea and she didn’t feel well.   Sigh.  I got the hand sanitizer, changed back into my pajamas, and hunkered down for a night in.

So basically, in a 30 minute time span I went from  looking super cute in my new spring outfit and anticipating to some good food and an evening out with my husband, to standing in my kitchen in my pajamas, staring into my empty fridge.  With lipstick on.

This must be the 40-something’s equivalent of getting stood up for a date in your 20’s?  Except I don’t remember someone else’s diarrhea being a part of that.

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