Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

food

Five reasons my life will never resemble a romantic comedy

I enjoy a good rom-com every now and then. Sometimes, you get something totally off the wall, though. Like recently we watched “Gnomeo & Juliet.” On purpose. Without our kids. Slightly ridiculous. I’m not sure Shakespeare would approve. But he’s dead, so who cares?

And “Date Night.” That’s old news, I know, but from the first time I saw the preview, I HAD to see the movie. I was left feeling “eh.”

I’m no Tina Fey and my husband’s no Steve Carell, but here’s our version of Date Night and a few reasons Hollywood’s never going to make a movie that truly represents date night reality.

1. My pre-date preparation included a diaper change and not one, but two children asking to wear makeup. The boy got an adamant but polite “no.” Daddy let him wear a dab of cologne instead.

2. My favorite outfits only fit perfectly in my dreams. Jeans fit a little too tight. (Note to self: get back to the gym.) I think I pick the same shirt for every date. (We’re not regular about our dates, so it could be months between outings. Who remembers what they wore two months ago?) I’m not gonna turn heads, and I’m okay with that. Although when I walked through the bar from the bathroom, I’m sure I heard someone say, “she’s hot.” I’m sure they were talking to the television. I would have been embarrassed if they weren’t.

3. My husband out-of-the-blue complimented me. That sounds bad. Like he doesn’t do that. But sometimes when he does it, I’m expecting it. This time, I wasn’t. Unscripted. I was talking about Bible study at the time. (The reason this scene of our lives would never make it in a movie.) I wasn’t saying anything clever or witty. We were talking about a passion I had. Apparently, that made me beautiful to my husband. His words stopped mine. And I almost cried. I’ll be replaying those words in my head for days.

4. The atmosphere was perfect: dim lighting, high-backed booths, white tablecloth, practically empty dining room. (These pictures tell a better story.) A Food Network-worthy menu. We ate goat cheese pizza for starters. I had local trout with broccoli rabe and roasted potatoes. My husband had short ribs with mushrooms over pasta. My food was perfect. My husband was a little disappointed. In a movie, the food would be the best we’d ever eaten. And our bill would have been expensive. (Post-Groupon, we paid $5, not including tip.) We like to think we’re thrifty at times. Thrifty and romance don’t often mesh. We’re always on the lookout for cheap, I mean, frugal dates. (Look out Salamandra’s, we’re coming your way in December, thanks to a deal on www.saukvalley.com.)

5. That whole ride-off-into-the-sunset, happily-ever-after stuff … I don’t buy it. Our dreamy date ended with our 2-year-old taking a fall down a couple of slick steps outside our friends’ house. He had a knot on his head and a scraped up face. Our daughter, meanwhile, at the same moment, had freaked out about a large worm she almost stepped on and walked right out of one of her shoes. Did I mention it was raining? After we headed back into our friends’ house to clean up our son a little and calm him down, we headed home where we fought the 3-year-old for bed time, doctored the 2-year-old’s head, and read a parenting article about head injuries to make sure we shouldn’t be at the hospital or on the phone with the doctor instead. Once the kids were settled for the night, my husband and I decompressed in front of the computer, watching the latest episode of “Next Iron Chef.” Then, I turned in for the night while my husband stayed up to watch something else.

A totally romantic ending? Maybe not. But it’s reality ever after. I’m learning I can handle reality better if I recognize that my dreams and expectations will rarely measure up to reality.

This band says better what I’m trying to say, I think.

We had escaped our world for a moment and despite the missing ingredients to a successful romantic comedy, we had a wonderful time.

It’s amazing what a couple of childless hours can do for a marriage. Refresh. Renew. Shift the focus off the kids onto the marriage.

Why don’t we do this more often, again?

Slowly simmer, for life

Simmer.

If ever there was a dirty word in the kitchen, for me, it’s this one.

Boil. Now there’s a word I get. Turn the heat way up, walk away and in a few minutes, action. Boiling gets the job done quickly. When a recipe says to “simmer,” I find myself impatiently watching the pot for signs of movement. This was the case a few days ago while I was making cream of broccoli soup. It turned out less thick than I would have liked. I’m not sure I ever simmered it properly. I was in too much of a hurry.

I have the same problem with life. I’m a point A to point B kind of girl, who once she gets to point B is often on to points C, D and E. This troubles me. Especially since I’m sure I’m missing some prime moments.

In Sunday School, we’re working through John Ortberg’s video series “The Life You’ve Always Wanted,” which teaches about spiritual disciplines. I was challenged one week by the admonition Ortberg once received and passed on to us: You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.

I tend to be in a hurry, even when I have no reason to be. When the kids and I are walking around the block, I’m in a hurry to get home, which is in direct conflict with my kids who would rather pick up EVERY stick and rock and dandelion they see. My son is a collector. He stuffs his pockets with souvenirs from our trips around the block. I have to give myself an anti-pep talk on our walks, convincing myself that we don’t have to hurry around the block. Part of me is afraid something will happen while we’re out. Part of me just wants to rush the day along so I can rest and do what I want to do instead of being asked a dozen times if I want to play ballet school or with the Dora dollhouse.

Selfish, I know. Parenting is exhausting, though, and even people with full-time jobs get breaks now and then. (Disregard this digression. I’m tired. My husband has had two full days of classes and meetings at the seminary. I’m running out of ways to keep the kids occupied and to cope with the solo parenting.)

Eight months. That’s how long we have until the next “next” in our life. And I find myself wanting to rush to get there, just to know what it’s going to be. Isabelle keeps asking where she’s going to go to school and where we’re going to live. I have no answers.

Eight months is a long time to simmer. But just like the adage “a watched pot never boils,” I suspect the same can be applied to life. A watched life, if you will, never amounts to much. Lord willing, May will arrive. What I do with the time between now and then will determine the quality of the life I have in the meantime.

I really don’t do simmer well, but I want my life to be full and flavorful, like a soup that has cooked slowly and incorporated all the individual ingredients into a delicious meal.

Slow. Eliminate hurry. Enjoy the moments as they come.

These are my goals. Now, how do I do it?

Ortberg gave a few suggestions, like standing in the longest line at the grocery store, but what are some other antidotes to hurry?

How do you “ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life”? And what benefits have you seen from slowing your life?