My mom came up for a visit this weekend, and she graciously offered (several times) to babysit on Saturday night. After the third offer, we accepted and started to plot our date.
We thought about going to the movies (we love the movies), but then I said, "Is it okay to go to the movies on our date? Aren't we supposed to do something where we talk to each other?"
My husband responded, "But, sweetie, we love the movies. We should do something we enjoy."
Then I passed out or Squish started to cry or Bug called out or it was time to pack lunches. Whatever happened, we did not finish making our plans.
On Saturday afternoon, my mom asked what we wanted to do with our night out. We said we were probably just going to go to dinner not far from home - a movie and dinner just seemed too extravagant.
Then . . .
on Saturday at 6:17 p.m. . . .
we put Squish to bed early . . .
and my husband and I looked at what movies were playing nearby. We found one. Four minutes later I was blowing Bug a kiss goodbye, and we were out the door.
In the car, on the way to the theater, I said, "Wow. Have I been talking really fast?!?!?! I feel like I'm on [schmugs]. This is crazy. We are on a date! We are going to a movie and then dinner! Woo hoooooo! Look out, world! I have a plastic dinosaur in my pocket. Hashtag middleaged! Ha ha ha ha ha! I am so funny. Am I talking really fast?!?? I am not wearing sneakers or flats! Movies!!!"
My husband agreed with all of it.
We were all hopped up on movie time, and it was wonderful.