Date Night

Once upon a time, we were young and in love (not really).

We had plenty of dates. In fact, every time we were together, it was a date.

I, a young working professional still in college. He, a young man in the military. We traveled. We wore fancy black tights with corduroy shorts. (Well, I did anyway.)

Here we are, fancy clothes and all, not having the faintest idea that I was pregnant. Young, naive, planning on starting a family 'in another five years or so...'

And then, just like that, we were parents. Parents of a tiny, screaming, human being.

Suddenly, two weeks after this human's birth, we spent our second anniversary playing cards on our living room floor instead of going out for a date.

We spent every minute together..as three...day and night.

Mommy didn't work any more. Money was tight. Date night was a thing of the past.

And then...three became four!

We had this blue-eyed beauty in our lives. Day and night, two boys.

We got into a groovy-groove eventually. Man-on-man, as Jon called it. One of us would tend to one child, the other to the other child.

Eventually, we became a well-run machine, a beautiful family, two adults, two children.

Busy. Very busy.

Then, our perfectly manned family of four became a family of five. We went from man-on-man defense to playing the zone.

Life was full. Very full.

Look, we're so busy that we can't even take a decent picture of the boys. Can't even put clothes on Gable or make sure everyone's eyes are open or that they don't have green marker covering their arms.

Finally, after three children. After being parents for eight years, we went out of town. For two whole days and one night, we left our children.

And life has never been the same.

We had one of those 'moments'. One of those moments that a vow is made. A vow that no matter how difficult, no matter how inconvenient or costly, an effort must be made to find time to date.

It has not always been easy and we have gotten off course many, many times. But for about the past year, we have had a date night at least once a month. Cleared the schedules, booked the sitter (or teenage son), bought pizza and a movie for the kids...and left.

I find myself looking at the calendar on difficult days, checking the number of days left until date night. And this past weekend, it was date night.

No kids, no phones, no interruptions.

Just the two of us. And that, my friends, was worth the eight-year wait.

Dear Jon

No, not that kind of 'Dear Jon' letter...(That would be Dear 'JoHn', I think.)

Dear Jon,

Where do you keep the stamps? I have two forms to send out - you know, the ones I've been trying to get out every single day...and can't find where you keep the stamps.

I did head down to your studio/office to check. The room that is actually a storage closet because you gave up your office so that your oldest son could have his own room for his birthday? The office/studio that doesn't even have drywall, where the insulation hangs down? Yeah, you're so the greatest dad.

I noticed that your desk is plastered with old and current picture of us. Pictures of the boys, drawing made by the boys, songs written by the boys. Little Boat Blue by Gable 'To Dad'. Bracelets that Jack made for you, and chord charts made by you for Jonah.

All in a scrappy, nasty closet with no drywall.

While looking for stamps, I noticed the file folders, meticulously labeled with months of the year. Each bill neatly filed away, tucked into it's proper place. Not because you like to do bills. Quite the opposite. (Remember, I try to leave on bill days because you are just so, so lovely to be around...) You obviously hate paying bills and organizing finances more than meatloaf, but you do it just so that I don't have to.

Although I have always appreciated the fact that you do that for me, and
although I have always been amazed at the way you arrange your keepsakes around you in a way that they 'speak' to you daily...

It usually doesn't make me cry.

But today - it did.

And I never did find the stamps.

His is Better

It's a well-known fact around here that I make a better sandwich than Jon and he makes a better sandwich than I do.

I make a better salad than Jon and he makes a better salad than I do.

A salad is just better if someone else makes it for you.
A sandwich is always better if someone else prepares it.

I am a Seinfeld nut, as previously mentioned (many times). I think the reason I love the coffee shop scenes so much is that it makes me desire a cup of coffee and toast. They just make it look good. And inevitably, if I watch Elaine eat a big salad, I must go make one. Cucumbers on the salad, (even bringing in an 'outside' cucumber)make me go all the way to the store for just a cucumber.

No matter what I make, it's just not as good as if I eat it at a restaurant or if someone else prepares it.

Lately, I've come to realize that Jon's pillow is just better than mine. It is cold and crisp, one nice pillow. Mine are flat and numerous. Granted, this is because I am a stomach sleeper and he is a back sleeper, but still, I covet his pillow. If I get to bed first, I snatch it.

He snatcheth back.

This past week, he has been giving me his pillow. Here, take it, you'll sleep better. It's good that way.

But it's just no good this way.

If it's mine, it's like I made the big salad myself.

It just doesn't work.

Now what to do?

This week I spent lots of time scrubbing down things with little alcohol pads away from home. And it was nice, it was fun. I enjoyed my little 1" alcohol prep pads and I enjoyed making dirty things clean. Have I once swabbed down my home with 1" pads, whistling while I worked? Uh, no.

But how many times have I done the dishes at someone else's home and had a blast doing it? Folded someone else's laundry or scubbed their toilets? It happens and it's actually fun.

This must be simply a case of the grass being greener or something...

The Journey

Last Sunday, around 4:00, Jon and I headed out of town on a little getaway. The trip came up totally unexpectedly and we grabbed the opportunity and held on with all of our might.

Jon was in the Navy for most of our dating life and after we got married, we were both working and I was in college doing coursework and clinical rotations. While I was still in college, we had our first baby. Our time together, without children, was practically non-existent. Oh sure, we had a honeymoon, but quite frankly, we just didn't like each other back then. I hated the things that Jon loved and we said horrible things to each other. Our entire honeymoon was spent trying to get time alone, away from each other.

Even now it hurts to openly admit that.

But this trip, this spontaneous getaway, this second chance at a honeymoon, was a gift. It was a gift from my friend's parents, who at the last minute discovered that they were unable to use their timeshare which was about to expire. It was a gift from my friends, who all pitched in to watch three crazy boys so we could go alone. It was a gift of time for us. Four days of uninterrupted, uncluttered time.

We had never had that much time together, just the two of us.

There's just something about the sight of my husband's wedding ring on his hand that makes my heart go pitter patter. Put it together with strumming and oh my, my, my...

Yeah, we did lots of this. Nice. Very nice.
Those would be the I-so-freakin-adore-you-eyes. And no, that is not Saddam Hussein on his shirt, as commonly thought. It is the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.
It snowed about an inch or so. The whole city shut down. I think the snow memory is my favorite, so I will share it. We were heading back up the mountain to our resort. All of the restaurants and stores had long since closed. When we got to the bottom of the mountain, there was a long line of cars stopped. Off to our left was another line of cars stopped and those people were all standing outside their cars. At first we thought that someone was stuck or that we were waiting for the snow plow to make it up the mountain, but eventually we learned that everyone had given up and was now floundering for ideas on how to make it to their rooms. Two men standing by Jon's window took one look at us (yeah, so we were in a minivan, so what?) and sneered to Jon, "You ain't goin' nowhere so you might as well just sit tight." I didn't even need to look at Jon to see what he would do, I already knew it. Oh yeah, we went and oh yeah, we made it. Is it wrong to want to go all the way back down the mountain just to see that face with the egg all over it??
Um, I seem to have not quite grasped the concept of crisp pictures yet on this camera, but that is not the point. The point of this picture is that this is us on January 19, which just happens to have been the day we met 18 years ago. We had buffalo wings on that first day and we had wings again this year. It was during the Gulf War and Jon was on leave. Great timing, eh?

You know you're a coffee snob when the french press, spring water, and Roger's fresh-roasted coffee beans accompany you on a vacation.
Do you know what I spent a lot of time doing on vacation? Doing my hair, putting on makeup, taking baths. Do you know why? Because I am a girl, that's why. I made Jon wait a long time (well, okay, not long, but longer than usual) when we were going on a date. Do you know what else? He didn't mind. In fact, he loved waiting on me.

Why are we taking pictures of ourselves in Wal-Mart? I do not know, but it was fun. Wal-Mart on vacation is more fun than Wal-Mart in Lawrenceburg. Go figure.

The time together, the beautiful chunk of time together, was an amazing gift. I can't wait to do it again.