Mom's Date Out

I preface the following by saying this was a previously written piece I've updated. I asked myself permission to reprint and thankfully, self replied favorably.

After 15 years of marriage and two kids, I’ve had it. I can’t hear myself think. Wait, I can’t even think. I need to escape the four walls of home, which also serve as my home office that have long imprisoned me. I’m leaving. OK, I just need a half-dayhall pass.

I will finally have a day I’ve long dreamed
about for years--a mom’s date out. I’ve decided that
every Wednesday I will have a date--not in the slip-into-a-
sexy outfit-to-wow-hubby-over kind of way, but a date
of self and soul searching. Preferably from a park bench
or a rocking chair at my favorite local bookstore.
Wednesdays are ideal--it’s midweek and besides, who goes out
on hump day?

I had my doubts at first. If I committed every Wednesday, would it become an obligation or chore like taking that new Bikram yoga class at my master planned rec center or promising to volunteer in my son or daughter's class?

I drew up a contract with only two simple rules and
signed my name in O+ blood:

1. My date can’t be spent catching up--there will always
be laundry, errand running, bills to pay. Once I blaze out
of the garage, all thoughts of work, wifely and motherly
duties are quickly erased from my hard drive.

2. The date is only shared with me, myself and I.

So last Wednesday I made my first date. As the day
approached, I became nervous and full of anticipation.
What would I do? How would I spend it? It had been so
long since I’d been wooed over by my own sense of
humor, penchant for great conversation, and the art of
ordering just the right item off the menu.

“Just be yourself,” I repeated over and over like a
meditation mantra to my reflection in the mirror.

Then there was the issue of the perfect outfit. What would I
wear? I didn’t want to come on too strong or appear
overzealous. I needed the perfect blend of comfort
tempered with sophistication. This was a first date, after
all.

First impressions take less than seven seconds. I
slid into my signature look--faded Gap jeans, black tee and black square-toe boots. On top, I threw over my prized Nordstrom half-yearly find--a lime suede blazer. I had to admit, I didn’t look all too shabby for a frazzled mom and desperate housewife.

I was on my way, but to where? I hadn’t fully planned
out the logistics of my date. I’m always planning and so I
wanted to show myself I had at least one bone of
spontaneity in me. I took the side streets toward
downtown until I came upon an historic neighborhood I’d
always wanted to stop at, but never had the time to
before. I parked and stepped into the unseasonably
warm winter day. The wind whispered. Voices
exchanged opinions. Spokes spun. I indulged in these
long missed sounds.

I meandered in and out of artist-owned galleries
developing a new founded appreciation for a craft I
would never master.

“Are you on vacation?” a Grandma Moses dead ringer
asked, opening a tube of oil paint.

I didn’t hold back.

“Actually, I’m on a vacation of self-discovery.” It felt
liberating to announce that to a stranger. I purchased a
set of note cards as a memento of my journey.

“Good luck on your voyage,” Grandma Moses wished
me as I left, eager to continue down the trail.

I stumbled upon a Victorian home turned into a café a
few blocks away. Patio seating. I swung open the
creaky door. A New York Times left behind. A plethora
of menu choices scribbled in chalk. I’d been delivered
from Starbucks. Angels sang in my head.

I ordered and found a spot in the sun. I sank my teeth
into thickly cut slabs of crunchy bacon, just ripe
tomatoes and leafy lettuce. I was polite enough not to
point out to myself the mayo dribbling down my chin.
Who knew food had taste? It’d been so long.
The date was going great; we had potential.

I read the Times from cover to cover, relishing the ink
stains on my fingers. Me, myself and I engaged in
political banter, shared jokes and mulled over the
always challenging crossword. We lingered over a
pumpkin spice latte until we hesitantly agreed it was
time to go.

But not before making the move we were both
anticipating.

As I leaned into myself for a warm embrace, I knew in
my heart I wanted to continue this relationship.
Next Wednesday it is, I agreed without hesitation.