The other night was Mom’s Night Out. It’s an annual event set up by our elementary school, where the moms are invited to go out for an evening to drink wine, shop with vendors brought in to sell things like apparel, jewelry and bags, and of course, eat. It’s a lovely night where I typically walk away buying stuff I don’t need and eating stuff I don’t want.
But this Mom’s Night Out, they’ve shaken things up a bit by announcing that there would be no shopping. This year, there would be dancing. Dancing? Oh! My young brain cries. The last time you went dancing was at someone’s wedding, who knows when. It’s been at least five years, back when one shoulder dresses were trendy. Inside, I’m excited, but what comes out of my mouth is, “Wow, I hope it won’t be too loud.”
Gahhh!! Who is this old person pretending to be me? Before I can stop myself, I go even further, “I don’t even know if want to go. I’m tired.”
When did I become so boring? And worse, someone who’s boring and barely cares. It’s my apathy at my disinterest that has me all hot and bothered. I guess, I’m happy that at least something still does (Besides my very sexy husband, of course. Wink wink, sexy husband).
I’m not alone. Not to drag anyone under the bus, but instead of rallying my negativity into positivity, my friends all jumped on my wagon, voicing their own lackluster interest. I can’t blame us really. We’re tired. We’re lazy. We do the mom thing, wiping, cleaning, schlepping, negotiating. Some of us have jobs in the adult world as well. So while going out at night is a pleasure, sometimes the overwhelming days make it almost too much of an effort.
Is this middle age? I am in my 40’s now, along with most of my friends. So technically, I guess it is. But isn’t 40 the new 30? I’m still coming to terms with the fact that I’m married and have children. I can’t even begin to process that my child bearing years are actually over. What is happening here?
Maybe it’s because I still think of myself as young, but if I’m honest, when I see someone in their 20’s, I know by the way they dress and act and go out till all hours, that I am not young. That I don’t even want to be. They can have their night clubs and stilettos. I’ve got Mom’s Night Out! So off I go in my sensible, flat boots.
The turn-out was slim. Apparently, there are more beaten-down moms than me, who couldn’t even gather the energy to go. My friend and I were the first to arrive. Yep, the first. Back in the day, this would be embarrassing. Now we glory in getting out of our houses as quickly as possible. Also, if I don’t get out early, the odds of me going steadily diminish. It’s like every minute I don’t get out of the house is another reason to put on sweat pants and watch the Real Housewives.
The music was loud, but I found myself moving a little to keep warm in the cool, empty room. We sat down, sipping our wine as friends filtered in. We ate and chat, but not a mom stepped up to dance. I’d like to say I was leading the pack to the center of the floor, but I barely moved my butt from the cushy couch. I had a plate of food, friends and a magnum of wine. I was happy – head in the clouds, smile on the face, soft buzz of energy – happy.
At around 10pm, my friend and I exchanged ‘the glance’. It was time to go. I got home at the perfect time. My kids were nestled all tight in their beds; the picture of innocence and all things beautiful. And I was snuggling in mine with my sexy husband by the 11 o’clock news. Call me a loser, but I couldn’t ask for a better night.