Friday nights used to mean happy hour...or napping and then going out clubbing...or on a quiet night: take-out pizza, beers, and a rental movie.
It is exactly 8:34 p.m. and I am too tired to watch either of the movies we rented. After this post, and my hot vanilla milk (yes, I swear, it's true...it's from Starbucks...does that make me any less nerdy and geriatric-like?), I am going to bed.
And instead of happy hour there was a 15-minute trip to the public library so Ben could check out some new books. And instead of take-out pizza and beer, there was frozen Kashi pizza, ice water, and Tylenol.
Oh...yes. And after I ran out to the liquor store (more on that later), I returned to find my ever-optimistic husband changing crib sheets, Lysol-ing, and chuckling while a re-bathed (and quite giggly) Aidan Kai crawled around on the floor of his room.
He had been sleeping when I left, but apparently he was also coughing...and those of you who have been following this blog and/or my family, know that he's a vomiter and yes, he struck again. That's our baby: cough, cough, gag, vomit. Everywhere. I just stood there, slightly horrified, glad I was the one who had volunteered to go buy the Bacardi, while hubby? He just laughed...and commented on how happy HE was that I had been the one to go buy the Bacardi, because I would've had a nervous breakdown (his words, not mine).
I have to laugh at myself...at us...at our lives. We're not even sure how we got here. How did we go from people who were pretty cool, fun-loving, spontaneous, always on the move, to people who are too tired to sit on a couch and watch a movie (not even a deep one, mind you...it's not like we rented "Schindler's List" here, people) and sip warm milk on Friday nights? Oh yes. We had kids. Right.
So...the rum run? Thankfully, I have a mother who still fully believes that we should try and hold on to that part of us we used to be...a mother who, at 68 years old, excitedly buys herself new earrings and shoes to wear to go out dancing--yes, DANCING--with my soon-to-be-70-year-old dad who she's been married to for over 45 years. And so tomorrow, gloriously, blessedly, thankfully, joyously we will have A Babysitting Day thanks to my dear mom...our first time alone in a couple of months...and we will sit on the beach and drink rum. And I'd like to think that at least for a few hours tomorrow, we can feel like our Old Selves again...just Liz and Pablo, The Couple...instead of Mama and Dada.