‘Don’t Leave Us with the Babies!’

Remember this AirTran commercial? Hilarious! I thought of it when C. and I went away recently to celebrate our 7th anniversary. This is the first time I’ve left my second-born overnight, and the first time we’ve gone away by ourselves since the last time, over 2.5 years ago when we only had one kid. (Can that be right?!)

Let me reiterate what I said then: IT IS SO WORTH IT. Do it! Go! Now!! Beg your friends, family, neighbors, really, anyone who passes a background check to babysit so you can go away with your sweetie for at least 24 consecutive hours.

You will need at least that long to progress through The 7 Stages of an Adults-Only Getaway:

Stage 1: Reluctance. I don’t know... Do you think your parents really want to watch the kids or are they just being polite? Can they really handle it? They haven’t been around a toddler in a while… We probably shouldn’t spend the money. I’m too tired to stay out late, anyway.

Stage 2: Acceptance. So THAT’S the hotel you booked? Wow! It looks amazing. And you got us a reservation at that new restaurant? I’ve been wanting to try that place. I’m sure your parents will be fine. The kids are really excited about them coming.

Stage 3: Preparation. I’ll just throw a couple things in a bag for myself. Now, I need to get out the diapers, the wipes, the diaper cream, the overnight diapers, the other diaper cream, his blanket and teddy bear, 2 sets of pajamas, a couple of outfits, a jacket, a hat, the diaper bag, sippy cups – and, oh, the stuff for bathtime… Then for the OTHER one, there’s his medicine and inhaler, his soccer stuff, his helmet in case he wants to ride his bike… and, oh yeah, what about meals?

Stage 4: Execution. OK, here we go. Bye, kids! Be good! I can’t believe we’re doing this. I’m sure I forgot something crucial. Did I show them where the pacifiers are? What about the toddler toothpaste? The neighbors’ number in case of emergency? I know, I know, I need to relax. They’ll be fine. It’s just for one night.

Stage 5: Adjustment. Oh, wow! Look at this room! Look at that BED! There must be 10 pillows on there. I can’t believe we get to sleep in tomorrow! No kids climbing into bed with us at 5 a.m. whining for breakfast. And did you see the bathroom?! I am SO taking a nice, long, hot shower – with the door closed and no rubber duckies underfoot. You brought wine? Well, OK, sure. I guess I’ll have a glass. Even if it is only 4 p.m.

Stage 6: Enjoyment. Oh, my god. This is SO relaxing. I can’t believe we can just lie here for as long as we want, drinking wine and listening to music. No diapers to change, no laundry to do. Is this what we used to do before we had kids? Man, this is the life. And when we get ready to go out I can take my time for once. No one rummaging through my make-up bag or scorching themselves on the flat-iron. Heaven!

Stage 7: Reacclimation. I don’t know what I liked best – the sleeping in, having someone else make the bed and clean the room, or being able to have a complete conversation without being interrupted to yell at someone or wipe their butt or cut up their food. Can you believe we’re actually sitting here calmly having breakfast and reading the paper?! I KNOW! I guess we should get back, though, huh? OK, after this next cup of coffee. Pass me the Style section, would you?

LINK O’ THE WEEK: We stayed at the Hotel Brexton in Baltimore, which is a newly renovated historic hotel that was once home to Duchess of Windsor Wallis Simpson. The rooms are really unique and beautifully decorated in hip, modern décor. My one quibble: some robes would have been nice to really amp up the relaxation quotient.

Marriage & Butter

This week my husband and I celebrate 7 years of marriage. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that “for better” is so much better than I could have imagined, and that no one gets a pass on “for worse.” But 7 years is nothing compared to 30 years, which is how long my parents have been married. So I thought I’d share a story my mom shared with me before my wedding.

“A Cautionary Tale”

Family Circle magazine would have newlyweds believe that the first year of marriage is a minefield set to explode with arguments over money, sex, and in-laws. But I’m here to prove them wrong. The bomb that first went off in our marriage was caused by butter.

It was the summer of 1970—no one had even thought to worry about cholesterol and fat in the diet. Your father and I had just arrived in [our new hometown]—new to living together, new to his job at X College and mine at Y High, and new to our borrowed row-house.

This Saturday morning we had just unpacked the large skillet, and your father, in enthusiastic homage to your Grandpa’s family tradition, had made us pancakes. The aroma of Aunt Jemima’s batter wafted pleasantly from the kitchen; we felt finally “settled” as Mr. and Mrs.

Four hot pancakes sat invitingly on my plate. First, I sliced three pats of butter and inserted them neatly between the layers. Then I put a fourth pat on the side of the plate—so I wouldn’t have to chirp “pass the butter, please” later in the meal.

Just as I lifted the first bite to my mouth, your father looked up and gasped, “You’re going to eat all that butter? How disgusting!”

I was stunned. I loved butter. My mother loved butter (it was she who had taught me to freeze it by the pound). My whole family loved butter. And here was my new husband—attacking me for a lifetime habit, this deep link with my past!

I leapt up angrily and ran out of the house. How dare he pass judgment! What business of his was it what I ate? Who did he think he was! By the time I hit the end of the street and started down the hill to walk by the river, I’d decided I’d made a terrible mistake: I should never have gotten married at all.

An hour later I returned to the house. By that time I was worn out and sad. Mostly I just felt deeply alone. When I entered, there stood your father—cold pancakes and syrup dried to both plates beside him.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that. If you want to eat butter, go right ahead. You can eat all you want to!”

The incident didn’t blow over quite so easily, for I was skittish about eating butter around your father for years. But we both learned a lesson about marriage that day. Even a trifle like butter can have deep feelings attached to it. So partners must learn to judge each other with care.

-- By Grandma2Miles (& Riley)

My Baby's an Ageist

My baby hates old people. I can’t deny it anymore; it’s true. Old people that aren’t related to him, that is. This is embarrassing, to say the least.

We’ll be at some gathering and everyone will be cooing over the baby, and then some sweet grandmotherly type will have the gall to smile at him, or worse – PICK HIM UP – and Riley will curl his bottom lip and begin to wail. So not only is he the mother of all mama’s boys, but he’s an ageist!

Unfortunately for him, one of our favorite babysitters is an older woman. You couldn’t meet a more warm, caring, child-loving person than P. If there’s a baby in sight that requires holding, rocking, or singing to, she’s there. She often calls or visits between sitting gigs simply because she misses the kids.

These facts are lost on Riley. All he sees is white hair, a cardigan, and glasses. (Technically, her hair’s not even white, more of a light blonde.) She might as well have on a Darth Vader mask and fangs the way this baby carries on.

In spite of this, we hired P. to sit for us Sat. night so C. and I could go out to dinner to celebrate our 6th anniversary. Let me repeat that: 6! Whole! Years! Of marriage! Oh, sure, that might not sound like much to some of you. But considering that we have weathered job loss, family crises, the birth of two sons, and countless daily stresses and struggles during that time, 6 years sometimes seems like a miracle, OK? Definitely worthy of celebration.

I can’t even tell you the last time my husband and I went out, just the 2 of us, for a romantic dinner date. It may have been a year ago, on our last anniversary. And since I was pregnant, I couldn’t drink and I got heartburn, so it wasn’t as romantic as it could’ve been.

ANYWAY... This year we made a reservation at the hottest restaurant in town and got all dolled up. I made a special trip to the mall for some new earrings in an attempt to appear at least slightly hip. (And then I couldn’t wear them after all because my holes have practically closed up since I almost never wear jewelry anymore.) I even got a pedicure and wore heels. Oh, yeah, it was THAT big a night, people!

So P. shows up and Riley immediately starts crying. C. says, “I know how to fix that,” and lets P. take over feeding the baby his pureed squash. Have I mentioned how much my boy likes to eat? But still, his crying persisted. Oh, don’t think he stopped eating. But he would wail, take a bite, TURN HIS HEAD AWAY FROM THE SITTER and continue crying! That little...

P. insisted he would be fine once we left, so we did. And he was. Except that he refused to drink his bedtime bottle while she was holding him. This child has NEVER EVER turned down a breast or bottle in his entire life!! Unbelievable. Thankfully, he could live off the fat on his thighs for a whole winter if he had to.

Our dinner was great. The restaurant, Woodberry Kitchen, was recently written up in the New York Times. It’s in a funky old converted mill with exposed brick and high ceilings. The food is all local and/or organic, and the menu features things like spiced pear flatbread and pan-seared monkfish with squash ravioli. YUM!

So what if we talked about the kids half the time? So what if we’re not as fit and energetic and well-read as we were when we got married? So what if we were home by 9:30 because I was tired and didn’t want to pay the sitter for another hour? We still like each other, we had fun, and that’s all that matters.

Besides, as much fun as last night was, cuddling on the couch this morning with the boys in my bathrobe was even better. And lucky for Riley, there were no old people in sight.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Project Happily Ever After is a great website I found after reading about the author and her husband in Redbook. Basically, her marriage took a dive after they had a baby and this project started as an attempt to fix it. Her blog is upbeat and interesting, and she offers a free e-book with relationship tips.

SHOUT OUT: Congrats to my friend M.C., new mama to baby Charlotte!