On Friday, he picked up Lola from preschool and took her out for lunch. Just the two of them.
On Friday afternoon, he stayed home with Fifi. Just the two of them.
On Friday evening, he took Jay to the high school football game. Just the two of them.
So, by the time Saturday rolled around and my in laws came over to babysit, it was very easy for us to leave the kids behind and have our own time where it was... just the two of us. And a dozen close friends.
"Why do you have to go?" Lola frowned.
"I am jealous that everyone but me had a chance to be with Daddy alone. It is my turn." I explained, gave her a quick kiss goodbye, walked past my minivan and jumped inside my husband's car. "Ready for gourmet club at the debutante's house?" I asked and applied my newest NARS shade of gloss.
I really should get out more. The fact that I am blogging about going out with my husband is pathetic. The fact that I made my husband take pictures of me with my son's camera, alone, is even more pathetic.
My Fall uniform: jeans, cami, and adorable cropped jacket. And stilettos, of course.
E-Mama, Indy, and I started a playgroup when our first born children were not yet walking. We nervously sat across from one another years ago at that first play group as complete strangers. After years of play dates we graduated to more adult venues: girl's nights outs, parties, and now our gourmet dinner club with husbands.
The concept. Every other month we meet at a host house for dinner. The host decides on the menu and assigns each couple to bring a dish. We dine and drink the night away sans kids and among friends. E-mama described our friends here. And, it never fails, at each gourmet dinner after bottles of truth serum I end up with verbal diarrhea. It is a good thing that we do feel comfortable with one another and they keep inviting me back.
Shoot. I left without my invitation for the next gourmet club. What was in those mojitos Mrs. Debutante?