Date Night

Guess who gets to remember what her husband looks like?

Me! I do, it's me! (bounce, bounce, bounce!) I vaguely remember him being very Nordic looking.

After our actual plans for tonight fell through, which were probably much more important but not nearly as fun as doing nothing, we looked at each other and realized...hey...we still have my dad and aunt coming over to watch Ena tonight...we could, wait, could we go out? With outness? Outside? Out out out---whoa, my brain just shut down, hang on.

I have to be honest, I don't go out very much. To the point where you might think I'm agoraphobic. Really, it's been ridiculously cold, and I hate cold. And I hear babies don't like cold. But the ultimate reason is that I hate our driveway. We live on the bottom of a hill and the apex of a curve and some genius decided to erect a concrete barrier two houses down that completely blocks any ability to see past the next driveway. And people come speeding down this hill, oblivious to the fact that hey, someone at sometime may want to come out of one of these driveways. (i.e. me). So you kind of just have to pray and go, and hope that you can sneak out before Speed Racer over there makes his final lap.

Now, this was okay when it was just me. I'm indestructible. But with Ena? If a car merely drives next to me while she's in the car, I get twitchy and if someone dares to cut me off or do some other stupid driving move that I'm sure I've done a bazillion times, this rage demon comes out and Samuel L. Jackson begins to blush somewhere and not know why. I'm extremely even-keeled but you mess with my kid and her safety and a tenth circle of hell will appear in the space/time continuum.

So, somehow without me even realizing it, Colin does all of the driving. I've morphed into my grandmother. Soon I'll be purchasing a beagle and feeding it so much it becomes eighty percent sausage and twenty percent air horn and telling Ena how much better children the cats are than her.

It probably doesn't help that Colin says things like, "don't go downstairs, those stairs are steep. Don't want to fall and have Helena upstairs alone crying." Uh, omygod. I'm going to start training the cats to call 911.