Date Night

Chicken Soup for the Soul: True Love

BY: Stefanie Wass

Reflect upon your current blessings.
~Charles Dickens


"Bye guys," I say, kissing my two girls in the church hallway before heading outside to the car. "Have fun."
It's Wednesday evening -- church choir night for my daughters. I have two hours until pick-up time, and like a teenager, I am giddy with anticipation.


"Where do you want to meet?" my husband asked at breakfast. "It's Wednesday, you know."

As I drive to the neighborhood café, I find myself singing along to the radio. Free from my usual dinner-making routine, (thanks to a church choir program that serves my children nuggets and noodles, along with a hefty dose of praise and song) I am carefree. I park the car, then rummage through my purse for some lip gloss. Glancing in the visor mirror, I fluff my hair, tucking a pesky white strand under my (mostly) brown locks. It's silly, I know: primping and fussing for a dinner date with my husband of thirteen years. But, as I walk in the restaurant, I know it's worth it.

"You look nice," my beloved smiles, handing me a dinner menu.

For the next hour, we feast on pizza and salad, swapping family and work stories between bites of pepperoni and cheese. My usual calorie-conscious self, lost to the revelry of the day, eyes a glass case full of cheesecakes and brownies.

"Want to get dessert?" I surprise myself by suggesting such decadence.

My turtle cheesecake, a tower of chocolate and caramel topped with pecans, is sweet and indulgent -- just like this evening.

"Can I taste a little of that?" I say, poking my fork deep into my husband's peanut butter pie.

After dinner, we linger over cups of hazelnut coffee. I am full -- of good food, companionship, and the comfort in knowing that my spouse is still my very best friend.

I glance at my watch. "We still have a half hour," I say, hopeful to go for a walk or do some window shopping.
Holding hands, we cross the street and enter the public library. I head straight to my favorite section -- nonfiction, and give thanks for time to peruse the newest releases without being pulled into the children's room. My husband flops into an armchair and relaxes with a newspaper.

Thirty minutes pass in a flash.

"It's time to go," I reluctantly announce, peering over the top of my spouse's paper. In my arms I hold a stack of books -- souvenirs reminding me to return again next week.

"I can pick up the girls if you want," my husband says. "You take your time. We'll meet you at home."

I sigh a bit, sorry to see the evening come to a close. At home, it will be the usual routine: baths and bedtimes, stories to read and lunches to pack. I love motherhood, but I relish this respite.

Despite conflicts and commitments, (I do, after all, have to take a turn as parent helper at children's choir) I will do my best to continue dating my spouse. Although my girls are jealous when they hear tales of cheesecakes and pizzas, deep down I know they benefit. Secure in the knowledge that Mom and Dad love each other, they are free to grow up in confidence, surrounded by the very real possibility that romance can last forever.

Although marriage may be made in heaven, I think its maintenance must be done here on Earth.

Thank goodness for Wednesday choir night: an opportunity to fine-tune the most sacred of bonds.

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