Date night fail: When “Parents Night Out” is complicated…

4 March 2013 by 3 Comments

Last night, Jon and I attempted to take advantage of our gym’s Parents Night Out offering for the first time.  It’s a great deal – you hand over $15 per child and they let your kids run wild in the gymnasium while you sneak out to eat a peaceful dinner.  Cheaper than most babysitters!

And to sell it to the kids, they try to organize fun things.  Rock climbing, movies, sugar-highs, etc.

So, we fed the kids early, changed out of our sweatpants, and hustled over to the gym.  Walking in to the kid area, we encountered our first fumble.

We were met with a list.  Actually, not just any list, THE list.  The list of folks who had already signed up for this thing weeks ago.  Neither one of us knew that you needed to pre-register, as the gym’s website gave us zero information.  Luckily for us, it was a slow night with plenty of room to spare, so they allowed us to drop off our children.  Just this one time.

The kids started taking their coats off, all the while staring at the mayhem of kids running around and sliding on dollies, drooling at the thought of an hour or more of uncontrolled chaos.

And then the guy asked us “Did you bring their swimsuits?  ‘Cuz we’re gonna go swimmin’ in about 30 minutes.”

Well, crap.  No.  No we did not.

The kids looked up at us with a look that can only be described as pure betrayal.  How dare we not know there was swimming involved! How come we don’t have our shit together? Have you no compassion, woman?

Then the whining began.  Our options were to run home, bring back swimsuits, and the try to wolf down food before needing to pick up the kids, spending more time in the car than at a restaurant.  Or, bag the whole evening.

So, we scratched the kids’ name off the list and left the gym.

Jon and I hadn’t eaten, and gosh darnit, we had changed out of our sweatpants!  This dinner thing was going to happen, whether the kids liked it or not.

Wait!  Buffalo Wild Wings has those laptop thingies the kids can play on while the adults eat and drink away our mistake.  Let’s try that!

Only, there was a 30 minute wait, pure kryptonite to any family with small children.

Jon suggested another place, the Old Bag Of Nails.  He’d been to one before, but I hadn’t, so I didn’t know what to expect.  And seeing the lot almost empty was a bit off-setting.  As was walking in and getting sat right away at 6:30 on a Saturday evening.  Whenever that happens, I’m always skeptical.  What’s wrong with the place?  Is the food horrible?  Will I walk out with a side of salmonella as my doggie bag?

And then, cue the angelic singing.  We were escorted to a booth.  With a freakin’ flat screen television mounted right on to the wall.  Our own private distraction.  Perfect!  The kids could snack on 2nd dinner while Jon and I ate in relative peace.

Sure, they rotted their brains on Spongebob, basking in the glow emitted from that too-close T.V. But I got to have an uninterrupted meal with my husband.  While the kids sat a mere six inches from my plate.  I can’t remember the last time that happened.

No one played Hot Potato with their fork. No one needed to check out the bathroom several times.  No one got out of their seat like a Jack-n-the-box on crack.  It was lovely.

Will I rely on this kind of mindless diversion every time we go to dinner?  No, absolutely not.  But as a backup for a much-needed date with my husband?

You bet your Parent’s Night Out I will.

Filed Under: date night, Uncategorized

9 years ago…

9 November 2012 by 12 Comments

Yesterday was my and Jon’s ninth wedding anniversary. 9 years. Almost a decade. Our marriage has lasted longer than TomKat.

We generally don’t make too much of a fuss about our anniversary. Gifts are usually small if any at all, there are cards exchanged, and we might make it to dinner by ourselves. Jon doesn’t quite know it yet, but I have big plans for our 10th. It involves shipping the kids off, escaping to a tropical paradise, and being hand fed peeled grapes and fruity drinks by cabana boys. And Jon can come too if he wants.

In the meantime, I thought I’d try to plan a little romantic surprise here. Last week I secured a babysitter, and after asking around for suggestions I made a reservation at one of the most popular romantic places in town, a French restaurant called The Refectory.  And since I had done all this in secrecy, this was my gift to Jon.  Viola!

But, Murphy’s Law would dictate that things would not go according to plan.  The babysitter texted me on Tues, saying that she’d been in the hospital all weekend with mono.  Well, now.  Crap.  A frantic hour of calls and texts to all our reserves proved unfruitful, and suddenly we found ourselves with Zero plans for our anniversary.

I was determined to make something happen though.   The wheels began to turn on Plan B.   I thought, “Hey!  The kids are in school Thursday morning, why not go to breakfast to celebrate?”  Good idea, n’est pas?

Jon got back in to town on Wednesday afternoon, and as the evening went on, I could hear Plan B slowly deflate.  Jon had come down with a cold and I could tell he wasn’t going to be in any condition to head out early in the morning. And the cough that’s been nagging me for a week suddenly got worse.  There would be no making out or romance, that’s for sure.

Still, I was determined to rally.  We need to celebrate our love, dammit!  While I threatened to cancel our anniversary all together, Plan C materialized.  We’d take the kids with us and celebrate as a family by heading to an upscale Mexican restaurant that we’d wanted to try that had a decent kids menu. Jon took a smorgasbord of drugs, I doped up on Mucinex and we went on our way.

Now, let me interject some observations in here for a second.  Kids, though they mean well, could really care less about anyone else’s special day if it’s not theirs. My two fully understand the concept of their own birthdays and relish in being celebrated gloriously for a day.  For my birthday a month ago?  Well, there were happy birthday wishes throughout the day, and they served me breakfast in bed, but they still fought every chance they got, still chose not to listen to our requests, and my daughter served up a giant plate of crankiness halfway through lunch.

When we got to the restaurant, I took a second after we sat down and resorted to begging.  “Please, guys, this is Mommy and Daddy’s special day.  Can you PLEASE behave in this nice restaurant?  That means eating your food with UTENSILS, no sugar packet wars and no sprawling out on the booth seat like it’s a day bed.”

All in all?  They did pretty well.  Or, at least they tried to.  Anniversary dinner with your kids though isn’t the same.  Trying to hold a conversation with your spouse so you can “connect” while simultaneously stopping to say “please sit on your bottom and stop eating ketchup like it’s soup” doesn’t really hold the same romantic vision that I had originally wanted.

Still, this is our life.  And these kids are the proof of our love.  A reminder to Jon and I that we chose each other to head out on this adventure together.  For better or worse.  In sickness and in health.  And if this is the only anti-romantic anniversary we’ve had to endure over the last 9 years, I consider myself very lucky.

 

Filed Under: babysitters, colds, date night, marriage

Quick get away…

30 September 2012 by 20 Comments

It’s not very often that I come across the chance to get away from my life as a mother and wife.  On a daily basis, the majority of my time is spent focusing on making sure the kids are watered and fed, the house doesn’t get swallowed up and digested by laundry and dirty dishes, and that my part-time employers don’t get Pink Slip happy and cut me loose.

So when my blogger buddy Keesha from Mom’s New Stage hinted at meeting up at BloggyCon this weekend, I jumped at the chance to skip out of town and leave the kids with Jon. I literally skipped…to the car, in the hotel lobby, around my childless hotel room. Heck, Jon travels all the time for work, it’s payback time, right?

Photo courtesy Lasse Christensen. Some rights reserved.

But, like every other time I’ve left home (which hadn’t been in over a year), after the giddy euphoria of being kid-free dissipates, I’m left with a rancid taste of guilt in my mouth.  Seriously?  I can’t get 48 hours alone without this Mommy Guilt pissing all over my party?  When I’m at home with my kids, I find myself fighting the urge to speed out to the airport and stow away on a flight to Tahiti.  So why does leaving them for longer stretches give me temporary amnesia? Why am I spending my few hours away from them even thinking about them? I’m supposed to be enjoying myself, dammit!  Not pining for those little terrors that made me want to get away in the first place.

First, that Get Away Guilt (a.k.a. GAG) comes the millisecond I spot Other Kids.  The ones that slightly resemble my offspring and remind me I’ve ditched my own at home.  Date night with my husband?  We get seated next to the family with kids our childrens’ ages.  On a flight without kids for the first time in half a decade?  I get seated next to the adorable little girl with springy pigtails and Oreo crumbs littering her face who has suckered me into engaged me in a rip-roaring round of peek-a-boo, making me regret having yelled at my daughter mere hours before for smearing her booger on the back of my shirt.  Driving in the car alone, without having to expedite snacks and loveys to the backseat?  That’s a good time for the radio to air one of my kids’ favorite songs.  And there I am, smiling in slow motion, thinking about how sweet and cute and loving and well behaved my kids are.  Delusional, yes.  Temporarily insane?  Most definitely.  GAG.

What IS that?  Am I the only one that experiences this GAG?  What is that cliche, about distance making the heart grow fonder?

Because I know that an hour after I return home, after the rib-crushing hugs have been issued, after I have  drowned in the glorious little kid perfume of peanut butter sandwich/mud-pie/crayon and after the excitement of having me back home as floated away, the bickering will resurface, socks will be left out on every surface of the living room, and life will assume its normalcy.

By the way, I just checked.  It is only a quick 19-hour flight to get away to Bora Bora…

 

Filed Under: boogers, date night, Mom's New Stage, motherhood

Time out…

13 February 2012 by 3 Comments

Babysitter?  Check.

Overnight bag packed?  Check

Plans made and confirmed?  Check

Then commence Operation Freedom.

“Huh?”  you say?   Lemme explain.  Jon and I spent a glorious night away from the kids on Saturday.  Bringing our total number of nights away without kids in the last SIX YEARS to four.  That’s right.  Four.  In six years, folks.  We spent two nights at a hotel five minutes from our house four years ago to celebrate our anniversary when I was pregnant with Miss P.  When Miss P was almost a year old, Jon’s mom graciously agreed to watch the kids one night, and in my sleep-deprived state, I took her up on it.  We basically put P down to bed, saw a movie, ran to a hotel and slept until 8am, woke up and came back home.  So, yeah, it was time.

And after the week of snow we’d had, I was totally ready for a break from the kids.  Yeah, yeah, I know there’s those moms out there that are all “Me?  I never need a break from my little babies, I love them and want to spend every waking hour with them and not complain about it.”  Except, I am not that mom.

Jon got us a room downtown with points, and we stayed at this funky little hotel called The Curtis, part of the Hilton family of hotels.  Have you ever been in one of these?  It’s probably not for everyone, but the decor is right up my alley.  Tangerine and lime green paint and furniture, funky retro shapes, and throwback references to my childhood.  Complete with games you can borrow in the lobby like LIFE and Hungry Hippo.  We checked in to the hotel, then stepped out in the frozen tundra that is Denver to walk and forage for food.  I had made reservations for a comedy show, and we only had an hour to eat and make it over there, so we opted for pizza at Mellow Mushroom.  After stuffing our bellies, we walked over to the comedy club.  Walking, just the two of us.  Without having to beg tiny feet to pick up the pace in the freezing cold.  I had moments where it reminded me of being in New York, just the two of us.

The comedy show was short of mediocre, which was a bummer.  The host was so bad it was uncomfortable to watch.  The big act was Craig Robinson.  You know, Darryl the warehouse guy from The Office?  Didn’t know he did stand up?  Yeah, me neither.  His act was done with a keyboard, and he brought up some pop music references, some sport stuff, and got the audience involved.  Nice act, but not rip-roaring, almost-peed-in-my-pants hilarious like the last show we saw with Jon Reep.  What was most disappointing about the show?  There was a group of late-20ish folks there celebrating a birthday.  Drunk.  At 7pm.  Seriously?  Their obnoxious behavior set a bad tone for the night, and Jon and I didn’t even stick around to see the host bid us goodbye.  We spilled out of the comedy club and looked at our watch…it’s 8:45, y’all.  And it’s 20 degrees outside.

We frigidly walked around trying to find something to do, and stumbled upon a bowling alley with pool tables.  I’m pretty bad at pool, but I do like rubbing chalk on a cue, so we got a table and settled in for a while.  You know that moment when you’re finally alone with your husband, the kids have been away from  your mind long enough for you to actually tune in to him, and you hear something that makes you remember why you fell in love in the first place?  That night made me realize that we just have to get out more.  We have to make more time for each other.  Perhaps maybe not as expensive of a time as a night away, but more time.  Because in 15 years when our kids have left the nest, it will be just the two of us again.  I don’t want to turn to Jon at that point and not now how to have a conversation because that part of my brain has been slowly eaten away by kid projects, discipline, and Disney Princesses.

The bonus of this night away?  I slept in until 9am!  I woke up on my own!  No alarm clock!  No kid feet running overhead to come and get me up!  Can’t you tell by all of my exclamation marks that I am very excited by this!  We took our time getting showered, went down to breakfast, watched some morning television that wasn’t animated, and headed out for a few more hours before needing to make it back home.  And what did we do in this time, you ask?  Shop for the kids.  I hate to admit it, but it’s not the first time this has happened.  I don’t know why we feel compelled to do it.  Guilt, perhaps?  Or maybe it’s just easier to shop without them, who knows.  We came home after lunch time and the kids seemed somewhat happy to see us, with a sprinkling of “oh, it’s you again” and a smattering of “so, what’d you bring me?”  The time away, though not nearly long enough, was good for my soul.  It gave me time to feel like a functioning adult again.  But it was nice to come home, to feel moments of missing these little people.  How can I miss them if I’m never away from them?

Filed Under: Craig Robinson, date night, Jon Reep, The Curtis Hotel

My timing stinks…

29 November 2011 by 8 Comments

Jon and I sneaked out for a spontaneous date night after a parent/teacher conference last week.  It was an indulgent, Monday night outing, but since our babysitter was already there at the house, we’d thought we get use out of her, rather than paying for only an hour and being done.  We dropped Mr. B back at home after the conference, got dinner started for the babysitter, then skedaddled out of there. 

Being that it was a spur of the moment thing, we didn’t have all of our details figured out, like where we’d eat.  The movie started at 7, so we drove over to the artsy theater to get our tickets, parked the car, then set out on foot to find some grub.  It felt very much like our New York City days.  Except, it was Denver.  In 30 degree weather, of which neither one of us was dressed warmly enough to endure (being that we’re solid car travelers now).  And, did I say this was DENVER?  It’s not like there’s a restaurant every 10 feet.  We walked several blocks and came across our go-to place for BBQ, not ideally what we were looking for, but it was warm and we were hungry. 

After dinner, we headed back to The Esquire to see our movie, and got there so early that there was no one else in the theatre.  Followed quickly by elderly people who wanted to ensure they got decent seats.  Ah, yes.  Is this what we’re becoming?  Early Bird Specials?  Perhaps.  But at least we have gadgets!  We spent about half an hour sitting in our seats playing Blokus on my iPhone before the commercials even started. 

Finally, our flick begins.  We went to see The Descendants, the George Clooney movie.  (As a side note, the movie?  I would settle with “Good”, though not as funny as we were expecting.  Clooney pulls off oafish with Hawaiian shirts tucked in to his high-waisted pants pretty well, but let’s face it…he’s still very easy on the eyes.)  Being that I was getting fitted for The Unitard the next day, I prided myself on not eating the whole bag of popcorn and even going so far as to eat slowly.  About 3/4 of the way through the movie, I worked a kernel out of the far back depths of my teeth.  Then, it makes it way down my throat and I started choking and having a righteous coughing fit.   Right during the most dramatic point of the movie.  Which also happened to be the quietest part of the whole movie.  Perhaps folks thought I was being really moved by what was happening, but I highly doubt it.  After the coughing ceased and the redness in my cheeks subsided, Jon and I couldn’t stop giggling about my misfortune.  I’m glad to see that after all of these years together, we can still find something to bond over.

Filed Under: date night, George Clooney, The Descendents