Date Night

Last night was Date Night. I’ve always been a firm believer in date nights. Most of our date nights are quiet affairs since both The Man We Call Dad and I have some serious homebody tendencies, but every so often we go all out and splurge on a night out with all the trimmings.

I would love to tell you some wonderful story about how wonderfully I was spoiled last night, or how much fun I had spoiling The Man We Call Dad, but unfortunately, last night’s Date Night was not mine.

Yes, you read that right. The Man We Call Dad went on a date with someone else last night.

I was only a little bit jealous. Okay, maybe a lot jealous.

And maybe, just maybe, I sort of crashed the date later on in the evening. What can I say? My guy was on a date with another woman!

Of course, the ‘other woman’ was our darling B, and she was more than delighted with her Date.

It started out as a family date as we tried out a new pub that has opened up near us. Ordinarily, I would absolutely cheer the opening of a pub, but this particular pub has replaced the Mexican restaurant that used to be my favourite place to go for nachos and a taco salad. To be fair, the restaurant had started to fade, then it got renamed, the menu changed, the food quality changed, and then it replaced the candies that came with your bill with fortune cookies.

Yes, you read that right. Fortune cookies.

After dinner, we ran a couple of completely B-centered errands. She’s having her birthday party this weekend, and so it was time for the ritual Selection Of The Food, followed by the biannual Potato Chip Mania, and concluded with the Dollar Store Loot Bag Shopping Extravaganza.

With the trunk full to bursting with bags of potato chips, buns, hamburger, hotdogs, and (of course) loot bag goodies in multiples of 10, we headed home to unload the car and leave The Man We Call Dad and our darling B to go off on their date.

Except they didn’t leave.

While K and I zoomed through our bedtime routines and curled up with the Kindle to read the final chapters of Catching Fire, B and The Man We Call Dad curled up on the couch and watched the next episode of her current favourite Netflix pick – Roswell.

I was only a little bit jealous.

After all, I had watched the series in its entirety when it originally ran, so it isn’t like I don’t know what happens next, or like missing an episode or two will kill me. I can always watch it again on Netflix myself if need be.

But it isn’t the same.

There is nothing like being curled up under a blanket with the love of your life with one of the children you’ve brought into this world snuggled in the little space that’s left between the two of you.

Except she was snuggled up close to The Man We Call Dad and I was at the complete opposite end of the house reading with K.

Don’t get me wrong – there was nowhere I would rather be than curled up with one of my kids, reading a great book together. Nowhere.

But when we finished our nightly allotment of chapters and K started drifting off to sleep, I found myself wandering downstairs just to see if they were done yet.

They weren’t.

They had decided to watch another episode, staying up late on a school night past the point of all good sense. (Can you tell that waking the kids up in the morning and getting them off to school is not one of The Man We Call Dad’s usual chores?)

What was a Mama to do? Let The Man We Call Dad keep her up past all good sense? Veto, and make her go to bed? Veto, lecture The Man We Call Dad on the subjects of responsibility and mornings and grumpy overtired children?

Join them, that’s what I did. It’s true. I crashed my own daughter’s Date With Dad and let her stay up past the point of all good sense on a school night.

We ate chips, too. They were delicious.

(And no, she didn’t wake up easily or happily this morning, but it was 100% worth it.)

 

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