Yesterday evening my soon-to-be-13-year-old arranged a last-minute movie outing with a couple of school friends. The kind where you’re supposed to drop them off and pick them up afterwards. The first of this kind for him, ever. That same evening, my 11-year-old was invited to a last minute sleepover. So my husband and I were suddenly, unexpectedly, on our own.
There we were, on the sofa in comfortable sweats, considering getting takeout and watching a movie. Then we pulled ourselves together, got changed, and went out for an impromptu dinner date to a local fish restaurant we’d been meaning to try but somehow never got around to. And it was so much fun.
Later, as we sat in the movie house parking lot with cups of steaming Starbucks to wait for our son, we looked at each other. So this was what life was increasingly going to be like from now on. Hot beverages in parking lots at night as we waited to pick our kids up from movies, and pizza, and parties. It was strange, and new, and different.
We held hands like teenagers as we sipped our drinks, and smiled. Yes, it was new, and different, and a little strange. But it was also rather nice. In fact, it was a whole lot of nice.
I can do nice.