This last weekend, Mama K and I were treated to a night out on the town, sans Young Old, who we left behind at home in the capable hands of his Auntie and Grandad. This was to be our first moment apart from the little bugger since impregnating The Wife almost a year back. Though we were both very confident in the feeding, cleaning, and snuggling abilities of our relatives, both of us admittedly felt a bit of unease the moment we got into the car and found ourselves not having to strap the squirmworm into his safety seat. The car felt, well...empty. It wasn't until this moment that we both truly felt the meaning of the word "family," and how much we had begun to take for granted the fact that we were no longer a pair, but a trio. Our third wheel was missing (what does that term even mean?), and the ride that is our relationship suddenly felt a bit off kilter. We spent the next few minutes rationalizing our decision to head out for some "us" time, taking deep breaths and repeating the mantra, "We are not bad parents, we are not bad parents, we are not bad parents."
But time heals all, and the night went on, leaving our sudden feelings of guilt and hesitancy at the wayside. The evening was to be that penultimate form of the "Date Night," the dinner and a movie combo. At our old standby for special occasions,
The Farm Cafe, we found ourselves low on the seating priority list, expected due to their lack of a reservation system. We each sat down at the inky-dark wooden bar with a micro brew in hand (Eugene's Ninkasi Red for me, a Berkeley-brewed chocolate porter for Mama K) and slowly rediscovered interruption-free conversation, which flowed non-stop throughout the wait for a table and into the meal, at which point all words had no room upon our lips as we devoured plates of hand-crafted cheese, local fruit, scrumptious salad, and crusty warm bread. We continued with Grilled Corn and Smoky Blue Risotto for Mama K, and the infamous Farmhouse Veggie Burger (best in town, and, in all honesty, probably the world) for moi. All in all, a very satisfying meal...good food, good words, good vibe.
Floating off to the car, bellies bursting with delight, we raced up Sandy Boulevard to one of our many great local independent movie theaters, the recently remodeled
Roseway. Big Coen Brothers fans, we eagerly purchased tickets for their newest film project,
Burn After Reading. As we settled into our comfy seats, gluttonous fists clutching sugary nuggets, we both realized that we'd hadn't so much as thought of our little man back home in hours, totally enjoying and absorbing one another's presence, not as parental partners, but as friends and lovers. The reel (actually, I think it's a digital set-up) rolled, and the laughter spilled forth. A very funny film, filled, as all of their films are, with wonderful characters, witty dialogue, and deliciously surprising gore. Not a
great Coen Bros. film, but certainly a good one. Credits rolled, and we wearily slouched out to the car (hey, we're getting old and responsible and all that shit), headed home to bed and our beautiful burping boy.
Walking in the door, we simultaneously let out a collective sigh of relief; Young Old was not only still alive, but he was fed, diapered, and pleasantly slumbering away. Though the night alone as a couple was much needed and much appreciated, it completely filled our hearts with love to see him again, to become three once more.
However Young Old, and please take no offense, we
will be making Date Night a weekly tradition from here on out. Gotta keep the love alive, my little friend.
Auntie Ren and Grandpa Alaska, thank you so much for making this possible...
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