You know how it is.

You get married, have kids, and before long, babytalk takes over and nothing gets accomplished unless its’s animated or stained with formula that smells so badly, you can’t believe you feed it to a child. Even worse, YOUR child, the one you hope to morph into a productive citizen one day. Or at least somebody rich, so you can retire early and catch up on all those tivo’d Real Housewives episodes you never have time to watch, but somehow make you feel normal when you do.

And so I’ve found myself with the upside that we have a babysitter coming to our home tomorrow to do anything BUT sit with the boys. Who coined that phrase, anyway? (She’s the world’s best babysitter, whom I feel uber lucky to have discovered.) And with the upside, I’ve also run into a dilemma. Maybe it’s more of a realization of just how pathetic Greg and I have become in one area of our lives: We haven’t seen a movie without the kids in for, well…um…ever.

Or at least long enough that I can’t remember catching a flick at the theatre without the boys in tow. Without leaving during a good part to take them to the restroom, or sitting in the front row because its fun for children, blinding for adults. I really can’t. It’s safe to say it’s been years. Way too long, in my opinion. I’m sure we were taking the advice of Dr. Phil along the way, and purposely didn’t go to a show on datenight so we could chat uninterrupted. But, years? You’d think I was talking about something really detestable, like a spinach-eating contest or a paper cut convention.

So, I’m excited.

People ask me what my plans are for the weekend, and my response is slightly giddy, and they’re all like, ‘Really? It’s a…movie.’ While I’m living on the edge, I just might get butter on my popcorn, or eat the whole box of Junior Mints. (Do they still sell those?)

I’m crazy like that.