It was a chilly December evening when an unexpected opportunity for a date night arose. My parents had flown in from the West Coast, and my mom sent a text while I was still at work: “Don’t rush home. Take some time for you and your husband. Go out. Enjoy a drink. Look into each other’s eyes.” I felt grateful and excited to have this time together, reminiscent of those early days after our first child arrived when I was entirely captivated by her, nursing and watching her every move. My mom would often remind me, “Don’t forget to save some love for Jason.” Those words echo in my mind, especially during the moments when we both feel depleted and he asks, “When do we get to focus on us?”
When I told Jason we had the night off, he raised an eyebrow, “Really? What do you want to do?” Instead of excitement, I was hit with fatigue and a strange sense of disappointment. We hesitated, our steps tentative as we left the office and navigated the snowy parking lot.
We decided to check out a new restaurant nearby. As we climbed into the truck, I wondered aloud, “Do you think they’ll seat us without a reservation?” He shrugged, hands firmly on the wheel, “We won’t know unless we give it a shot.” I envied his ease in transitioning into ‘date mode.’
As we arrived, the restaurant loomed before us—an expansive old mansion with a charming wrap-around porch. Thoughts of our own porch, still covered in snow and ice, weighed on my mind. I recalled the branches of our backyard trees that had split in a recent storm, waiting to be cleared, and the trampoline buried under a blanket of white.
Jason kissed my cheek before heading inside to check for a table. I stood outside, anxious about being turned away. A few moments later, I received a text: we were all set! I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I walked towards the entrance.
Inside, the restaurant was overly crowded, and I felt the bustle of elbows and hips brushing against me as I found a seat in the center of the room. I imagined an aerial view of the chaos, resembling a chaotic pinball machine, with tables positioned for maximum collision.
Across from me, Jason appeared relaxed, which only amplified my discomfort. I found it hard to shift my focus towards us. My mind raced with thoughts of our daughters. The laundry was still unfolded, I hadn’t located that Frozen pajama top for the upcoming Polar Express day, and I had forgotten to put away the neighbor’s mail. Did I remember to store the creamer?
“Would you like to start with a drink?” our waitress asked with a cheerful smile. Jason confidently ordered a bottle of sauvignon blanc, beaming at me as he asked, “Sound good, babe?” I nodded, caught off guard, “Yes, great.” As she walked away, I avoided Jason’s gaze, feeling woefully unprepared to meet his hopeful expression. How did we end up here? How can something so cherished feel like yet another obligation?
The challenges of vulnerability in both parenting and marriage can be overwhelming. Each day presents new demands that stretch my patience and energy thin—navigating mean girls, puberty, Common Core math, adult time, and me-time. It sometimes feels like trying to orchestrate a complex meal with an array of dishes that need precise timing and care. If my marriage were a soufflé, it would have certainly collapsed.
As a work-related question bubbled in my throat, I swallowed it down. Talking shop doesn’t belong on date night. “Hey,” he leaned in, “You alright?” His blue eyes scanned my face, and I feigned brightness, “Yep!”
He tilted his head, recognizing my attempt to gloss over something deeper. I shifted in my seat and decided to be honest. Our meals arrived shortly after the wine, and we dug in. Gradually, the noise around us began to fade, and I found myself shifting my gaze from his eyes to his hands.
When he practices guitar, his fingers move delicately yet confidently across the fretboard. Usually, I’m curled up on the couch watching him in those quiet moments when he doesn’t notice. It takes me back to that summer in 1999 when his forehead was kissed by the sun, and he smelled of clover. I would press my hands to his temples, kissing him softly, running my lips over his skin. When he looked up, we would exchange smiles, reliving the playful flirtation of our twenties, even as the years continued to add layers to us.
“Are you ready?” he asked. I nodded, and as we left the restaurant, he asked, “What should we do next?” My heart raced as I realized how much I wanted to be with him. These moments when I’m not consumed by the pressures of motherhood are rare. Desire blossomed within me, reminding me that despite the wrinkles and fatigue of my 40s, I’m still very much alive.
“How about shooting pool?” I suggested. He grinned, knowing that leaning over a pool table with a cue stick in hand is one of the few activities that allows me to shed my stress and embrace joy.
Watching him chalk the cue, I realized I was half-focused on the game and half on the realization that sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. I let my shoulders relax, casting aside worries about making mistakes. Sometimes the ball sinks, and if you’re lucky, your spirit lifts alongside it.
I’ve often let the “must-dos” overshadow the “I love yous,” but I finally understand that love isn’t always easy. It requires effort and the ability to see your shot, trusting your instincts to find that sweet spot in your relationship.
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In summary, the journey of balancing marriage and parenthood can often feel overwhelming. Still, it’s essential to carve out time for each other to rekindle that connection and prioritize love amid life’s chaos.