"Do you think that's enough?" Belle asked.
She was eye-level with our kitchen counter, looking at a Pyrex measuring cup with vodka in the bottom.
She poured another splash in the Pyrex and then dumped the alcohol into a Yeti tumbler filled with orange juice.
We were a little out of practice when it came to pre-gaming but we had an excuse: three kids under 8 and a pandemic. Now, for the first time in three years, we were going to a concert. Even more monumental, we were awaiting the arrival of a babysitter watching the kids who wasn't a grandparent.
Growing up, I remember being excited when my parents would go out on a Saturday night, leaving my brother and I with a babysitter. We would eat pizza, play games, watch TV, maybe stay up until 8:30. I couldn't believe my parents would miss out on such a good time! Who wants to eat dinner after 7 p.m., I thought, or dress up in fancy clothes for fun?
Pre-coronavirus - and pre-three kids - Belle and I would have the grandparents babysit every once in a while so we could go out to dinner. The oldest kids were younger and, in some cases still nursing, so we might have left the house after their dinner so all grandma and grandpa would have to do was get them ready for bed.
Once we were out, however, I understood why my parents - why any parents - valued a good, reliable babysitter. We might have checked the crib monitor once or twice. And the conversation, despite our parents' admonishments, occasionally turned to the kids. But to be able to travel without a diaper bag or buckling someone into a car seat, to eat a meal without getting up 20 times for one reason or another, to have someone clean up the table after you: all parents need a break, even if it's just for a few hours.
COVID and having an infant obviously limited our ability to go out. We
would sometimes have grandparents come over during a weekend day for a
spell, because nothing says "romance" like a trip to the Verizon store
to get new iPhones.
So I was excited about going to the concert but felt a pinch of anxiety. Bedtime is such a highly calibrated dance, and explaining the routines to someone new felt like trying to make someone an expert on quantum mechanics in an hour. Plus, it had been a busy week and were going on vacation two days later; a night home packing and going to bed at a decent hour sounded pretty good. Speaking of sleep, there's also that cruel math after a night out - you get less shut-eye while the kids still get up at the same (early) time.
But excuses are like diaper pails: they both stink. So the kids got late-afternoon showers and baths and we had an early-evening pizza dinner, reminding them for the 478th time that we would not be around for bedtime. Belle's aunt has watched the kids before and she arrived guns blazing, the "guns" in this case belated birthday gifts for the oldest kids and another toy for our youngest. The kids immediately forgot about us, and we were on our way.
The concert was a lot of fun, even if by around 10 p.m. I might have looked at my watched and yawned. We checked the baby monitor once to see our youngest passed out on her bed. Belle's aunt told us, when we got home, that our youngest went to sleep early, while our older kids stayed up a little later. The kids were great, she said, and she offered to babysit again whenever we wanted her to.
After a stress-free night out, in a post-concert glow, we might have asked if she were available tomorrow. But we thanked her and agreed we would take her up on her offer at some point in the future.
Hopefully, by then, we'll have a shot glass.
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