Occasionally we actually leave the house for a dinner date.
Whilst this may appear quite romantic, I am likening it more to a mummy ‘mental health’ break. Just lucky I have someone to come along with me who, with just a few squirts of aftershave and an ironed shirt (that had nothing to do with me), morphs into Mr McHotty, an upgraded version of Mr PassMeTheRemoteControl.
But let me make this very clear.
A night out together is a military operation.
None of this, “hey, wanna see a movie / celebrate ‘anything’ with a cocktail and/or check out that new curry place. See you there at 6,” stuff of days gone by.
No.
Planning begins weeks in advance when you begin to plant the seed. Dropping the ‘what was it like talking to grown ups today?’ is one of my personal faves and clearly signals the early stages of my regular past time of wall climbing. The date and venue is carefully researched (be buggered if I’m spending my jail break somewhere rubbish!) and then begins the Olympic event of having to lock in a babysitter. These kids have amazing social lives that I am seriously jealous of.
Finally, the day has arrived.
Note I said ‘day’, not ‘night’, as this day is structured to within an inch of its life; precision planning all designed to engineer smooth sailing and a guilt free departure.
6am is kick off. The clicking of the Bumblebee transformer at the bedroom door signifies the day has begun and my mind immediately begins. Is it too early? Will he be tired and grumpy later? Or is it a good thing? Does it mean he will fall into bed and go straight to sleep for the sitter? So begins my busy brain.
I roll out of bed and head straight for the freezer where I take out the ‘sure thing’ sausages for the kids dinner tonight. I use the diversion of breakfast (along with the iPad) to sneak my shower in. This will be epic. For today, one must shave the pits, the legs AND wash the hair. It is all done with the door open and a few squawks down the hallway about taking away the iPad, which seems to settle any crisis right down.
Next begins my series of boot camp activities. Designed to tire those little bodies out, whilst ensuring mine is firing on all cylinders. This can be a delicate line. The playground is fine, so long as God forbid they don’t expect you to play with them. A little harsh? C’mon; normally it’s fine and I am great at collecting nuts (AKA pine cones) for the squirrels (AKA us) this winter. Just not today. I need to still my mind for 5.
2pm still? Really? REALLY?
More!!! Tire them out more. A walk to the shop. Great. Lollies? Sure. But only one now and the rest for after dinner when that sugar high will kick in right about….shucks.
Is it time to hide the vast quantities of wine in the fridge yet? Does it look bad?
Another whip around of lego and other miscellaneous toys and I am getting there. Dammit; freedom is so close I can smell it. Oh…except that’s actually the chips…burning…
Sauasages and frozen chips. Scrape off the blackened bits….
Winning.
C’mon; you love corn!! Not anymore it seems. Well, you win…tonight.
I plonk them in to a bath that I forgot was running, so it is up to their chins with bubbles. Whilst I see danger, the kids see carnival, and begin their magic trick training of abracadabra-ing water out of cups. What they don’t realise, is that I am so darned clever, that I know this is not magic, and I can clearly see how they quickly piff the water all over the bathroom floor.
A moment of “awwwwww” when they are smelling nice and PJ’ed up, sitting quietly on the couch. This is quickly shattered with demands for milk and a momentary stand-off regarding the movie choice. Another rookie error when the kids notice before I do, that it is still light outside. Bloody forgot to pull those blinds down when they were in the bath. That search for the second high heel was a serious priority, OK.
Is that the time????
How could that clock, that refused to budge all day, now be glaring all sixy at me. Goodbye refreshing shower: hello face washer.
A stain??? On my dress? Where did it come from…or perhaps on closer inspection, my real concern should be…what IS it?
Makeup? Slap, wipe and whallah!
The door bell erupts shrieks of cheek from the couch.
The angel awaits.
I upturn the pre-dinner drink from the bench on the way through, sprinkle the petals down the hall to herald the babysitters arrival and throw the door open with a gesture of grandness; possibly misinterpreted by the sitter as desperation.
And…
I have clocked off.
Just at that moment, the husband breezes in, throws his keys down, deals out the ‘fun daddy’s’ home kisses, looks at me and says, “Are you ready?”
Like you would not believe, dear.
