On our anniversary last week, I took the afternoon off and spent a romantic day at the lake with my wife. The Little Princess, Spiderboy, and the Little Monkey were also at the lake. Very romantic. Dinner was just as intimate. The Little Princess wanted to go to Izzy’s because she loves the buffet there. And after dinner, we went to the mall because my son wanted to go to the Disney and Lego stores. According to him, it’s his anniversary too. Somehow, our anniversary has become Kids Day.
Before we had kids, I was a hopeless romantic. OK, maybe I wasn’t very romantic in real life. But in my mind, I was a big time, hopeless romantic. The kind of guy who buys flowers and chocolate for his wife, holds her hand on walks, buys her presents for no reason at all, and tells her “I love you” every day. Now that I have kids, my daddy genes have taken over. Valentine’s Day involves the kids. My wife’s birthday involves the kids. Our anniversary involves the kids. Even changing the oil in our car involves the kids (just kidding). I no longer have romantic thoughts. My hopeless romantic side is now buried in the deep recesses of my mind.
I know, I know. I could just get a sitter. But I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself. My mind would be elsewhere. I would wonder if the kids are ok and I would think about all the bad things I’ve heard on the news. On a side note: where did the term baby sitter come from? Long ago, did people really sit on babies?