Song: Still The One- Orleans
"Seriously?" I look disgusted. "You're not wearing that."
Date night people. We've started implementing "date night". What is date night? Date night is scheduling a babysitter (no more Dahlia, but then she wasn't here on the weekends anyway), and then going to the movies or dinner or if the babysitter doesn't have her own date, both. We had our first "date" two weekends ago. That was my opening line. My closing line, delivered with a smile to the sushi restaurant manager was, "I just want to get the eff out of here."
So I started thinking, how unlike a date this "date night" thing was. I'm pretty sure when Danny first took me out and arrived in a mock turtle neck, pleated pants and had his phone clipped to his belt- "Seriously, you're not wearing that"- never crossed the gates of my lips. They were easily dismissed by the more grateful thought, "This is the guy that was so funny on the phone and he's here! For me!" and the words, "What are we drinking, handsome?!"
So when did it turn? When exactly did I turn from a grateful, fun-loving, am-I-worthy-of-you- to the fashion police? And not just the fashion police- because on any given day the word "wearing" can be replaced with "saying", "doing", "going". I need a badge and a holster, I'm the GD fun police! I'm not sure when it turned. But I'm ready to turn it around.
Things were important when we first got together, when I was 28, things that were in balance with who I'd like to continue to be at 39. It was important that we were laughing. Danny always makes me laugh. His humor rests mostly in the cornball variety, "What did the snail say when he saw a speeding S car?" "Look at that escargot!" But then he also makes fun of me, imitating my voice in a valley girl accent, (apparently lots makes me sick to my stomach) "I'm seriously going to throw up." Or he makes up characters based on what I'm into -my most recent weekend marathon of both seasons of Homeland- inspired his latest Persian spy-guy approaching the CIA for a job, "Hello, I'm Persian, I do the spy for you, you pay me." Cracks me up. It was important that he was kind, generous, well-mannered and stable. Check. Check. Check. And check. The unchangeable. They have remained.
Of course, it's not all screwball comedy bits in the homestead, there's everything. However, it's been harder not to notice the balance had been tipped, well, flipped from appreciating the natural ebbs and flows to a stern deliberate focus on the ebbs. The main message from me, You, Danny, are an ebb. Ouch. It's not easy to write. I know what an uber-bitch I sound like- especially to any who know my sweet, sweet Danny boy. And what satisfaction those that have said to my face on more than one occasion "Poor, Danny." To what I've thought, "Yeah, your husband has it so much better-terd breath." Maturity!
It's hard to discuss marriage. When you're dating, every nuance is open to interpretation from the girlfriends, we are all too happy to give it up and have each other way in. But being married is tricky, now you're talking about the father of your children. The most likely answer to "How's Dave?" is "Great. How's Danny?" "Great." Done and done.
But I know it's not like I'm alone. Ready to be outed? (I got permission). One of my friends spent the entire time our families got together bowling pointing at her husbands backside, "His crack is showing." She would huff each time it was his turn to bend over and release the ball. She was steamed. I hadn't noticed his crack, nor did I particularly mind once she pointed it out, but I empathized- I knew if it were Danny's crack... Strike. And that's worse than a gutter ball:) Utterly besides the point that he gets up with the kids, leaves me flowers for no reason, will burn a CD with a love song on it and leave it in my car. Ever since the beginning he has listened to every matter of thought I had, idiotic or important. I remember asking him, "Why do you listen to me talk so much? Is it because you're Jewish?" "No." He said. "It's because I love you."
So who gives a fat one if he takes the wipes out of the nursery so that when I'm standing over a dirty wriggling baby I have nothing to clean him with? Or that he dresses like a super? In my brief dating history, the guys who cared a lot about how they looked- cared very little for how they treated me. Wah.
So, we put "date night" on the calendar. The first one, may have you thinking I would be getting zero percent callback, but due to the perks of being married, he had to give me another shot. Actually, besides my opener, the first date went really well. After I changed his clothes - we saw some movie I can't remember in a theatre with bad seats and we held hands. Then, we went to grab a quick bite of sushi and the place told us the wait would be 15 minutes- it was 30. When we got our table, the waiter took our order and then disappeared. After 45 minutes all I could think about was the sitter. Was she ever going to come back after this? By the time we get our food, eat and pay the check it's going to be another hour....this is not going to work. We kept trying to make eye-contact with the waiter as he was taking care of the tables around us- now all but empty- he was doing that looking-at-the-ceiling-thing whenever we came into his peripheral vision. After an hour of this ridiculous side show, we just wanted to go. Danny said he'd pay for the food and meet me out in the car. The manager saw me putting on my coat and came over. She said I should have told her earlier and a whole bunch of other things I should have done before, "it got to this point." Um...That's when I delivered my line, smiling, measured and right into her face. Then I popped my hood, split and pulled the car around for Danny- who was waiting with the goods-it was fun-we felt like Bonnie and Clyde (without any of the plot line).
This would never have happened on the first date- I'd have been lost on displaying how patient and easy to please I was-hahahaaaa. We had a picnic at home in front of the TV (they forgot the spicy mayo but we made our own (wink, wink), ...and that wouldn't have happened on the first date either. So...ebbs and flows. Our second date went even better. I'm trying to single focus on the flows...life is a lot better when I'm not being the fun police. That job, in valley girl accent, "seriously, makes me want to throw up".
Good week and luck with the snow! See you next week!
"Seriously?" I look disgusted. "You're not wearing that."
Date night people. We've started implementing "date night". What is date night? Date night is scheduling a babysitter (no more Dahlia, but then she wasn't here on the weekends anyway), and then going to the movies or dinner or if the babysitter doesn't have her own date, both. We had our first "date" two weekends ago. That was my opening line. My closing line, delivered with a smile to the sushi restaurant manager was, "I just want to get the eff out of here."
So I started thinking, how unlike a date this "date night" thing was. I'm pretty sure when Danny first took me out and arrived in a mock turtle neck, pleated pants and had his phone clipped to his belt- "Seriously, you're not wearing that"- never crossed the gates of my lips. They were easily dismissed by the more grateful thought, "This is the guy that was so funny on the phone and he's here! For me!" and the words, "What are we drinking, handsome?!"
So when did it turn? When exactly did I turn from a grateful, fun-loving, am-I-worthy-of-you- to the fashion police? And not just the fashion police- because on any given day the word "wearing" can be replaced with "saying", "doing", "going". I need a badge and a holster, I'm the GD fun police! I'm not sure when it turned. But I'm ready to turn it around.
Things were important when we first got together, when I was 28, things that were in balance with who I'd like to continue to be at 39. It was important that we were laughing. Danny always makes me laugh. His humor rests mostly in the cornball variety, "What did the snail say when he saw a speeding S car?" "Look at that escargot!" But then he also makes fun of me, imitating my voice in a valley girl accent, (apparently lots makes me sick to my stomach) "I'm seriously going to throw up." Or he makes up characters based on what I'm into -my most recent weekend marathon of both seasons of Homeland- inspired his latest Persian spy-guy approaching the CIA for a job, "Hello, I'm Persian, I do the spy for you, you pay me." Cracks me up. It was important that he was kind, generous, well-mannered and stable. Check. Check. Check. And check. The unchangeable. They have remained.
Of course, it's not all screwball comedy bits in the homestead, there's everything. However, it's been harder not to notice the balance had been tipped, well, flipped from appreciating the natural ebbs and flows to a stern deliberate focus on the ebbs. The main message from me, You, Danny, are an ebb. Ouch. It's not easy to write. I know what an uber-bitch I sound like- especially to any who know my sweet, sweet Danny boy. And what satisfaction those that have said to my face on more than one occasion "Poor, Danny." To what I've thought, "Yeah, your husband has it so much better-terd breath." Maturity!
It's hard to discuss marriage. When you're dating, every nuance is open to interpretation from the girlfriends, we are all too happy to give it up and have each other way in. But being married is tricky, now you're talking about the father of your children. The most likely answer to "How's Dave?" is "Great. How's Danny?" "Great." Done and done.
But I know it's not like I'm alone. Ready to be outed? (I got permission). One of my friends spent the entire time our families got together bowling pointing at her husbands backside, "His crack is showing." She would huff each time it was his turn to bend over and release the ball. She was steamed. I hadn't noticed his crack, nor did I particularly mind once she pointed it out, but I empathized- I knew if it were Danny's crack... Strike. And that's worse than a gutter ball:) Utterly besides the point that he gets up with the kids, leaves me flowers for no reason, will burn a CD with a love song on it and leave it in my car. Ever since the beginning he has listened to every matter of thought I had, idiotic or important. I remember asking him, "Why do you listen to me talk so much? Is it because you're Jewish?" "No." He said. "It's because I love you."
So who gives a fat one if he takes the wipes out of the nursery so that when I'm standing over a dirty wriggling baby I have nothing to clean him with? Or that he dresses like a super? In my brief dating history, the guys who cared a lot about how they looked- cared very little for how they treated me. Wah.
So, we put "date night" on the calendar. The first one, may have you thinking I would be getting zero percent callback, but due to the perks of being married, he had to give me another shot. Actually, besides my opener, the first date went really well. After I changed his clothes - we saw some movie I can't remember in a theatre with bad seats and we held hands. Then, we went to grab a quick bite of sushi and the place told us the wait would be 15 minutes- it was 30. When we got our table, the waiter took our order and then disappeared. After 45 minutes all I could think about was the sitter. Was she ever going to come back after this? By the time we get our food, eat and pay the check it's going to be another hour....this is not going to work. We kept trying to make eye-contact with the waiter as he was taking care of the tables around us- now all but empty- he was doing that looking-at-the-ceiling-thing whenever we came into his peripheral vision. After an hour of this ridiculous side show, we just wanted to go. Danny said he'd pay for the food and meet me out in the car. The manager saw me putting on my coat and came over. She said I should have told her earlier and a whole bunch of other things I should have done before, "it got to this point." Um...That's when I delivered my line, smiling, measured and right into her face. Then I popped my hood, split and pulled the car around for Danny- who was waiting with the goods-it was fun-we felt like Bonnie and Clyde (without any of the plot line).
This would never have happened on the first date- I'd have been lost on displaying how patient and easy to please I was-hahahaaaa. We had a picnic at home in front of the TV (they forgot the spicy mayo but we made our own (wink, wink), ...and that wouldn't have happened on the first date either. So...ebbs and flows. Our second date went even better. I'm trying to single focus on the flows...life is a lot better when I'm not being the fun police. That job, in valley girl accent, "seriously, makes me want to throw up".
Good week and luck with the snow! See you next week!
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