M(mama) N(needs) O(outta here)

Our family calendar hangs on the back of the pantry door.  On it, I write all the dates I need to know (when Country Fried Daddy is heading out of town, when Belly has her next well-baby doctor’s appointment, when Miss D.’s swim lessons start) and all the events I want Country Fried Daddy to know.  For the most part, the latter consists of only one monthly event.

No, not that one.

I’m talking about MNO: mom’s night out.

Yesterday, I checked the calendar several times to make sure that MNO was, in fact, still there.  At 6 p.m., I called CFD to make sure he remembered.  He did.  At 6:15, I did the mama version of getting ready.  I wet my hair rather than showering.  I picked my outfit based on what was clean, not what was cute.  I moved my wallet from the diaper bag to the purse I used to carry before Miss D. was born.  I walked out of the house at 6:30, even though I was tempted to run.

Ah, the RUSH of leaving my house alone.  To leave without first packing a snack and sippy cup, without checking my diaper supply, without taking one step over the threshold only to turn back inside carrying a child covered in spit-up.  I felt drunk with the freedom of it, but decided it was acceptable to drive anyway.

I got in the car and flipped through the radio stations.  Country, classic rock, classic rock, country, NPR classical, country, classic rock.  I picked a classic rock station and was immediately transported back to high school.  Bad Company was on the radio then, too, back when I was reveling in the freedom of a driver’s license, a car, and a group of friends waiting for me somewhere.

There was no adolescent wildness during last night’s MNO.  We did not go drag racing behind the high school.  We did not dance on the tables at California Pizza Kitchen or steal posters off the wall or stay out past our curfews.

Sixteen-year-old me would have laughed at what 34-year-old me looked forward to as a big night out.  It was enough, though, to eat food prepared by someone else and cleaned up by someone else, to wear earrings without worrying that someone with freakish strength but no common sense would pull them straight through my ear lobes.  It was enough to laugh and commiserate with friends while our children showed their daddies what it’s like to be the only adult home in the house.  It was enough.

In the days leading up to MNO, I can’t wait to get out.  By the end of MNO, I am happy to be home.

After good conversation, lots of laughs, too much pizza, and a very large ice cream sundae, I came home and nursed Belly, helped a sleeping Miss D. back under the covers and hung out with CFD a bit.

It was a good night, enough to hold me over until those lovely letters turn up on the calendar again.