Anatomy of an Evening Out

My husband and I really stink at this "dating" thing anymore. The luxury of driving around without purpose or planning has been lost, and the spontaneity suppressed in so many aspects of our lives refuses to surface on demand.

Then there's that pressure to choreograph the time, lest we waste a minute. This practically qualifies as an ANTI-date, in my book. But I'm not sure how to fix it.

Even though I eventually got past the minor annoyance of spewing milk out of my breasts every time I heard a baby cry, I'm still plagued by generic kid concerns every time I catch a child out of the corner of my eye. Or on the quarter hour, whichever is the more frequent. And if we're not careful, we'll catch ourselves talking about the kids, too. Not as in "I sure wish they were here to enjoy this…" (we're not that far-gone) but as in: "I wonder if they've tied up the babysitter yet?"

Our other common (if misguided) topic of conversation during the "ramp up" period is the good old days. Talking about funny or engaging moments from our past. This is how we can tell we're old. In case we weren't tipped off by our unmistakably domesticated look, the age-old size competition between HER purse and HIS gut. I notice that we're not exactly blending with the Saturday night crowd these days.

In fact, for some reason we don't seem to be able to TOLERATE crowds anymore. Maybe because crowds aren't such a novelty. If we want to be overwhelmed by people, all we have to do is step into the bathroom at home.

Sometimes we play a little diversionary game, which we call "the worst job." It helps us transition to more forward-thinking and couple-centered interaction. Meaning it's not about the kids. (Clearly, we're grasping for straws.) It works like this: we take turns brainstorming for each other's WORST potential job. For example, David tells me I'd make a really rotten paperboy. Can't aim for beans, and I'd rather saw off my arm than get up before dawn. For comparison purposes, and after great debate, HIS worst job would be "Mall Santa."

Once on track, it doesn't take us long to slip back into that "couple" mode. But it feels vaguely unfamiliar, a little like wearing someone else's clothes. It takes conscious and continuous effort to escape the parental mindset, and recapture some of the whimsy of youth. Not that I was EVER whimsical, exactly (unless you count the food fights.)  But, for example, I never used to have any trouble addressing a question like "What would you like to do?"

I'm not an indecisive person. I know perfectly well what I want to order for dessert, and when I want to go to the bathroom. What I'm no longer accustomed to is the vague "What do you want to do?" Maybe it's because back when we used to say that 200 times a day, there were plenty of opportunities to get ideas in there without feeling like you were monopolizing the relationship. Now we're lucky if we get ONE "What do you want to do?" per month.  It simply cannot be addressed as casually.

We ordinarily like to go to movies, except that when you have the misfortune of choosing a GOOD flick, the time evaporates, and it seems like only minutes have passed when we're pulling back into the driveway.

It's kind of like having a massage. While massages practically rate up there with chocolate (you thought I was going to compare it to something *else, didn't you?) the problem with them is that once started, you lie there thinking "Oh No. It's probably ¼ over by now. And she's probably DONE with that arm, and it's never going to feel that good ever again…"

Another downside of massages is that afterward, you have to get up and somehow get yourself home.

An evening out has the same unsatisfying ending. You go home to don that lead x-ray apron of responsibility, knowing that you ought to appreciate the rejuvenating quality of the time away as the treat it is. But a night out is an appetizer. And we know we're going to have to wait years upon years to get to the entrée.

What I really want to feel is an escape from the responsibilities of adulthood. I want to be taken care of and entertained. I guess what I want is to stay home with the babysitter, and send the KIDS out.