It’s not often Husband and I get to escape the house together – just the two of us, sans enfants. It should be easy to do. Grandy is an ever-ready on-site babysitter after all. But as he’s always here he has to put up with the dramas of having small children in the house on a permanent basis just the same as us. To then flee, leaving him to wrangle two children into bed (or just leave them up
trashing the house playing, which is more his style) seems unfair. Damn and blast the parental guilt of inflicting your children onto others.
But last night we escaped. Grandy had been off work all week, so had the stamina to handle the constant demands that are part of any game invented by Boo. Both Husband and Grandy had been to watch the snooker in Sheffield yesterday too, so I was could justify a turn at being a normal person allowed out in public.
So, as the rest of the family tucked into fish and chips, Husband and I changed into something more presentable, free of chocolate stains and pockets stuffed with precious finds, and tried to sneak out of the house. It didn’t work – we left to Noodles’ howls as he clocked that we were leaving without him.
Ahhh, to be out and not ever-alert to child-killing dangers. What the heck do we say to each other?
A request of waiters and waitresses everywhere: you see that couple who’ve clearly been together for so long they’ve run out of stuff to say? Bring on the alcohol ASAP! It helps. A lot. As the fuzzy warmth of the first glass settles in things flow more easily.
Normally, on a good day we’re ships that pass in the night, me tied up with all things child-related, he busy with ever-increasing work demands, both of us happier to chat to others online than to each other face-to-face. On a bad day we’re more like war ships, primed to strike at the merest hint of provocation.
But alone (save for the waitresses and the rowdy party of 8 at the next table) and merry on wine and good food, we find that we do still like each other.
Half a bottle of wine is hopefully not enough for Husband to forget our discussions points tonight. To get the windows sorted as soon as possible (which will then mean I’ll have to redecorate the bedroom and bathroom – aw, shame), to take the kids out for a whole day next weekend so I can get on with slapping some base coat onto the dining room walls and ceiling, to book a holiday for the summer. My bet is that I’ll be angling for at least two of the above to still happen the next time we go out together. But I can hope.
By the time we could drag the meal out no more, having an inadvisable coffee that would make me feel queasy and unable to sleep later (wouldn’t it be better to offer cocoa at the end of s meal?) it was still only just past 9 o’clock. (Note to self: next time DO order a starter. The unnecessary calories will be worth the extra time to the evening.) Arriving home Noodles and Boo were indeed still up. Boo had apparently been trying to organise a pretend party. Complete with balloons. The lounge was trashed. (Second note to self: NEVER let Boo have control of the house as a teenager when going on a date night. Not unless you want to come home to a real house party in full swing, the sort that requires calls to the police and becomes Facebook legend.)
Ah, back to normality. Life had transformed back into its pumpkin incarnation. Oh well, it was nice to have a go in the glass slippers for a couple of hours.