Phase 1: Preparations
February 13th, 9:15 PM:
We give up on creating a clean kitchen when we realize there are more dishes than room in the dishwasher. Dishwasher is loaded and run with the intention of running it again in the morning. Leftovers are put in the refrigerator, and we sit down for "our time." (Our time: The space between the end of the day and passing out from exhaustion. Usually 15 to 30 minutes. Often spent sitting next to each other separately updating Facebook or Twitter.)
9:16 PM:
I mention that tomorrow is Valentine's Day and ask if my wife would like to go out to eat or something. (It is the first time we have discussed the topic.)
9:16:02 PM:
The teenager enters the living room and says her goodnights.
9:27 PM:
The teenager finally exits the room after stalling to avoid going to bed.
9:27:02 PM:
My wife asks, "What were we talking about?"
9:38 PM:
After repeating my observation that tomorrow is Valentine's Day, plans are eventually finalized. Since Valentine's Day falls on a school night and the middle child has a major project or two due on Friday, a leisurely romantic encounter is not in the cards. It is decided that we will attempt a brief dinner out at 4:30 pm when the teenager gets home from school. This will allow us an hour to ourselves while the three girls eat dinner together at home. We will return home in time to supervise the final construction of the family tree project and a "serious date" is proposed for a future weekend TBD.
10:47 PM:
The lights have just been turned out when I suggest that we change plans to give ourselves more time and go out for lunch.
10:54 PM:
Plans are renegotiated and finalized. Lunch date is a better idea because it will leave us at home to help with homework on a "high intensity" night for a school project.
Phase 2: Complications
February 14th, 6:30 AM:
The alarm goes off.
6:38 AM:
My wife sits up in bed stating: "That won't work. I have a coffee date scheduled with Monika."
6:38:02 AM:
I open my eyes.
6:38:15 AM:
I comprehend what my wife said but have no context to understand it.
6:56 AM:
Between brushing teeth, putting in contacts, and showers, we return to the original plan. Dinner out at 4:30 PM.
7:08 AM:
I enter the teenager's room, who is still in bed. After shaking her gently to wake her, I ask if she would watch her sisters while we are gone for an hour that evening.
7:08:02 AM:
The teenager opens her eyes.
7:08:15 AM:
The teenager comprehends what I am talking about. A chip off the old block, I think.
8:19 AM:
After a morning with only one minor fit from the youngest, which arrives when we set a boundary that shorts may not be worn to school in February, the morning runs relatively smoothly. Breakfast is actually had at the table, and we all head out the door for drop-offs and the work day with an 80% chance that no one will be tardy or late.
9:10 AM:
I return to the youngest daughter's school with her Valentine's cards which I find sitting on the couch when I return home to write.
Midday Romantic Interlude:
February 14, 12:45 PM:
My wife and I converge at the house for a quick bite of lunch. We discuss what we did that morning. I tell her my idea for my GeekDad post for the week, and my wife, a preschool teacher, tells me about the poopy diaper, the escape artist, and the boys who punched each other at preschool that morning. I figure I got the better end of the deal, but she says it all with a smile and talks about how much she loves each one of her "little friends."
1:15 PM:
Lunch concludes with a brief kiss as my wife heads out the door for her coffee date. I decide it is time to tackle email for the day.
Phase 3: Execution
February 14, 3:05 PM:
I pick up the middle daughter, gently testing the waters. Depending on the stress level, plans might have to change.
3:07 PM:
We discover a possible stressor. Daughter melts down, tears, screaming, and frustration. Good, I think*. We got it out quickly. Now we can deal with it.*
3:15 PM:
Middle daughter is sent to her room to cool off. I begin to finish GeekDad post which is due at 6:00 PM.
3:27 PM:
Middle daughter figures it out and returns, calm, with her plan to get her work done. She takes a needed break on the Wii. I suggest a good healthy round of Just Dance to burn some energy.
4:00 PM:
I madly scramble to finish my post before we go out. My wife works on a dinner for the kids.
4:10 PM:
Middle daughter turns off the Wii of her own accord and starts her work. OK, I think. It looks like this might just work.
4:30 PM:
Teenager arrives home.
4:45 PM:
We manage to scoot out the door.
4:55 PM:
We arrive at our favorite Thai place and order noodles.
5:30 PM:
Over noodles and curry, we talk about our children and our lives. We discuss the mundane. We even manage to sync our calendars for the next week. There are no fireworks or sparks, but it feels comfortable.
5:50 PM:
We are still talking and realize our time is up. We also realize we have no milk or eggs in the house for the morning. A trip to the grocery store is in order.
5:55 PM:
We tentatively call the teenager. After reassurances that everything is just fine, we decide to go to the grocery store together.
6:15 PM:
We get stares as we slowly walk the aisles hand-in-hand. As we shop, we debate the merits of the various types of olives at the olive bar*.* I am thoroughly enjoying myself.
6:45 PM:
We arrive home, milk and eggs in hand, and find a household relatively free of chaos.
8:45 PM:
The middle child triumphantly finishes her homework.
9:15 PM:
We give up on getting a clean kitchen…
Nightcap
February 14, 10:23 PM:
Lying in bed just before the light goes out, I put down my Kindle and hold up my index finger. My wife lays aside her magazine and touches the tip of her index finger to mine. We rub them together for a minute, creating a little friction.
"Was it good for you?" I ask after a moment.
"Mmmm… very good," she says, as she lays her head on my shoulder.
I say, "It's been a good day."
"Yes it has," she answers and turns out the light.
