Date night

My husband and I never go out. It’s not his fault, it’s mine.

On a good day, I do manage to take a shower before my kids get up, but that’s the extent of my “prepping” for the day. No makeup, hair that is matted to my head because I didn’t bother to blow-dry it (what for?), yoga pants (I have never done yoga in my life), and a funky smelling sports bra (I wear it every day) that I have had since college that literally has holes at the seams (from general wear and tear, not from the size of my boobs). If I didn’t live in Minnesota, I could easily get away without wearing a bra, but it’s cold here. Enough said.

My girls go into complete shock if they see me put on a pair of jeans. “Why are you so dressed up Mom? Where are you going?” My husband has the same response. “You look nice today honey, where did you go?” Seriously? I went to Costco, and this t-shirt I have on is ten years old.

If I get caught putting on make-up, my daughters stare at me in complete amazement as if I have just been magically transformed into a movie star. It’s not like I cake it on either. I am a minimalist when it comes to make-up, mainly because I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore.

Regardless of the reason, my kids assume that something big is about to occur when Mommy decides to actually get dressed. My oldest daughter recently complained to my husband about the mother of one of her classmates. The eye rolling reached personal best status for her. She was absolutely disgusted that this woman would dare come to school on a regular basis with high heel shoes on and “so much make-up Dad!” I’m not sure if I am proud of her response or ashamed.

In all honestly, I do feel better about myself when I actually put “real” clothes on take a little time to primp, but I hate doing it, and so most days, I do not.

In an ideal world, I would love to go on a date with my husband. God knows we could use some real alone time and a chance to catch up. Last I heard he had some sort of a job at some sort of a company that specializes in some sort of something. Clearly we could benefit from some “husband and wife” time.

That said, the mere thought of the process involved to go out on a date makes me want to take a nap. It’s really sad, but I have no desire or energy to leave the house at the end of the day. I don’t want to take another shower to get rid of the dried on snot that is stuck to several exposed areas of my body. I don’t want to go through my clothes trying frantically to find a shirt that doesn’t accentuate my abdominal hernia (“Thank you child #1”) over my childlike boobs. (It’s my nubin, and I am Chandler.) I don’t want to put the effort into putting makeup on with the knowledge that in a couple of hours I have to put the energy into taking it off. I don’t want to go through the painful process of selecting a babysitter. I trust no one, with the exception of close friends and family, but even then I still worry (about them, not the kids). If I were to actually find a trustworthy babysitter someday, I don’t want to take the time to write a novel explaining what to do and how to do it during the three hours that I am gone. (Explaining how to operate the TV remote in and of itself would take me the better part of an afternoon, and I still probably wouldn’t get it right.) It’s too much work for me and just simply not worth it. Bottom line…I am selfish.

I would much rather get my kids into bed at a decent time, pour myself a glass of wine knowing that I don’t have to drive anywhere, and then pour myself another glass of wine celebrating the fact that my kids are in bed and I don’t have to drive anywhere. I have become a hermit. The more I stay at home, the more I want to be at home.

My poor husband. He is a people person. I am not. Thank God he likes to drink as much as I do. A couple beers in and he’s like, “Okay honey, let’s stay home.”

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