Nat took me on a date last night. It was very sweet. He bought me tickets for the Paper Mill Playhouse to see The Producers. He worked so hard: He bought the tickets, had them delivered, arranged a babysitter, got a reservation.
It was so nice.
At dinner, we apologized for not paying enough attention to one another.
I mentioned that before the kids, all we did was focus on each other. But now, we can’t.
“I’m sorry,” Nat apologized.
“Don’t,” I said. “We have no choice but to focus on the kids. We need them to stay alive.”
We laughed and finished our appetizers and ran to the theater.
The musical was good. It was so lovely to get out. But during the first act, the babysitter texted me and told me that Kit threw up. Suddenly, it was hard to focus on the play.
At intermission, at 9:30, we looked at each other.
“I’m not going to make it to the end,” I said to Nat.
“Me either,” he agreed.
So we left and got home. Kit was fine. The babysitter was good. She laughed about Sam. Nat drove her home and we went to bed. We were both asleep by 10 p.m. and up, as usual, by 6:15.
Tonight, we ordered Chinese food and watched a movie with Sam (he’s finally getting the attention span to sit through an entire movie). The kiddos are asleep and we’re watching the new Hugh Laurie show on Hulu. Ah, the couch: The place where we’ve spent most of our lives these past 4 years.
Is it so nice.