It's 'A-Parent'...

So, my husband and I went on a date. Yes, an actual date, away from our home and our kids. Now, I know you're asking yourself: 'Are parents actually allowed to go out anywhere without their children??' It's indeed a common misconception that parents, as individuals, have needs that do not in any way involve their kids. Be this as it may, my husband and I found at one point that we simply could not justify not going out.

Because we are married, my husband and I need to talk about and justify everything we do before we do it. Going out on a date without sufficient reason to do would simply be unacceptable. Last December, when I turned 34, I suggested my husband take me out to celebrate. At the time, however, both kids were down with the swine flu, so that didn't happen. Then, our wedding anniversary came around, which was arguably a perfect opportunity to go out. But, for reasons I can't remember, we didn't go out again. Then it was my husband's birthday, and we didn't go out. Then a whole series of occasions came and went, ranging from semi- to very special, and when we added these to the list of special occasions we hadn't celebrated in the past six months, we decided we couldn't justify procrastinating any longer. We had to go out.

Once the reason to go out was established, we reviewed the criteria that a parent must meet before even considering the possibility of going on a date:
1) You need a babysitter.
2) You need money to pay the babysitter and still be able to afford to go out.
3) You need to be able to stay awake long enough to go out, complete the date and come back home.

We finally decided, after some diplomatic contemplation and discussion, that we met the criteria. On a date, we would go.

I capitalized on this opportunity to squeeze myself into something sexy for our date. Since becoming a mom, my wardrobe has gone through a rigorous transmutation - what used to be a closet full of slinky, close-fitting garments now consists exclusively of baggy jeans and bally sweaters. Fortunately, the sentimental sap in me held on to a little black dress or two; neither of which fit. In fact, nothing in my closet seemed to fit. I finally settled on skinny jeans, paired with a loose-fitting but semi-transparant black top with only minimal traces of Bram's dried snot on it. I couldn't resist polishing off the ensemble with a pair of heels that had been slowly gathering moss at the bottom of my closet. I was dressed, and I felt completely uncomfortable. Mission accomplished.

Once the babysitter arrived, my husband and I proceeded to drill her on the do's and don'ts essential to the survival of an evening with our children. I stuck post-its with detailed instructions on everything I thought the babysitter might come in contact with, then duplicated these instructions again onto a piece of paper which I put on the fridge. We made sure she understood some crucial facts about our children, for example, that Bram will want to watch 'Toy Story' exactly three times in a row, and Mia will only drink anything from the pink cup. Definitely not the blue one. (For the love of God, if your life means anything to you at all, I beg you, don't give her the blue one!)

I gave the babysitter my mobile phone number. Then, I wrote down my mobile phone number on a post-it and stuck it on the fridge. Subsequently, I sent a text message to her mobile phone number with my mobile phone number in it. Just to make sure, I asked her if she had my mobile phone number. When she said she did, I asked her to call my mobile phone number to make sure she really had my mobile phone number. On the way to the restaurant, I was suddenly convinced the babysitter didn't have my mobile phone number, so I sent another text message with my mobile phone number. Just in case.

After being seated at the restaurant, I made sure my mobile phone was in plain view at all times during the meal, and checked it regularly to make sure it was still on. Then I checked to make sure the reception was good. I considered calling the babysitter to make sure everything was okay, since she wasn't calling me, which could mean everything was fine, or it could mean that Mia swallowed something poisonous and Bram fell and cracked his head open, but she didn't have my mobile phone number, which was why she wasn't calling me. My husband is extremely sensible, and was able to exterminate my worries by saying 'Oh, unclench. They're fine'. That was good enough for me, and I was able to turn my full attention to a three-course meal of food I didn't have to prepare, served on dishes I wouldn't have to wash. Divine.

Since becoming parents, my husband and I are allocated exactly three-and-a-half minutes per person to ingest our food at dinnertime. The rest of the meal is spent making sure some dinner actually makes it from the kids' plates into their mouths, and that they don't poke their eyes out with the silverware. During the meal on our date, I found it possible not only to eat my food in the tempo I saw fit, I could do it without having to navigate around a child on my lap. It was a strange, surreal sensation.

When the bill came, the waiter waited patiently at our table as I rummaged around in my purse to find my wallet. To get to it, I had to remove a variety of items lying on top, including a green Hot Wheel, an extra pair of Mia's panties (in case of an accident in public), two snotty hankies and a Hello Kitty sock (Hey, I was looking for that!). Another strange sensation swept over me, which was hard to identify at first. Then it occurred to me: it was the uncanny experience of paying for something other than groceries! Truly bizarre.

On the way home, I had visions of our living room resembling something similar to an episode of 'Malcolm in the Middle', with bits of food stuck to the ceiling, children hanging from the rafters and our babysitter tied up and gagged in a corner. What I was met with was pure serenity. The kids had eaten their dinner, the babysitter actually managed to work the remote control for the TV and was now reading a book while both kids were sound asleep in bed. If I hadn't been so dumbstruck, I would've asked the babysitter what her secret was...

This experience taught me something I already knew: parents are parents all the time, even when they are away from their kids. Parents like to talk about being parents, parents want to be friends with other parents, and parents write blogs about being parents. It's amazing how much child-rearing I can achieve without even being in the same room as my children, not to mention in a subconscious state! I understand now why I will always be my mom and dad's little girl, and that poor Mia and Bram are destined to the same fate.

Going out is not a way to escape my parental duties, it's a way to intensify them. I figure, the next time a special occasion comes around, we'll celebrate it next year...