When I hear someone say they are going on a “date” with their husband or wife I am usually a little creeped out; seems like a force fit, recalling a time when the two “daters” had much more time and a ton more energy to do what was about to be done. I “dated” Alyson in high school and college. For every one, my nostrils were flaring and I was pawing the ground. I couldn’t wait to be with her. My mom marveled at the speed with which I could bolt into the house from track practice or work, shower, dress and leave with a mere “see ya, bye,” on my way out the door.
I wrung every last ounce of “date” out of Alyson.
That was 25 years ago. We have three children now. They are striking and talented.
And they make us tired.
It’s not their fault. Kids just do that.
And jobs do too. And credit cards. And plumbing. And church…church is exhausting. (Who knew loving Jesus required so much time in the car and committee meetings?)
Our first date this year (which does not count in the rotation) was a Tuesday night affair in Charleston at 82 Queen with friends Matt and Allison. Awesome time. Great food and wine. And three hours in the car with no arguments erupting from the backseat. “Let’s plan twelve dates this year, one a month.” Ok. “And lets blog about it.” Ok. So our plan is hatched.
It’s not the most intellectual of pursuits, but to us, it’s important. And I am of the opinion that the intentionality with which we address our relationship will be directly proportional to the deepness of it. I still love this short blond girl very much…and I still want to be with her.
This blog is about tired Alyson dating tired Kevin. And as the year progresses, if I ever make a reference to sleeping together, you will know that is exactly what we are doing.