Most of the time, a Friday night in our house passes like any other night. It’s the end of another exhausting day, culminating with the knowledge that tomorrow we’ll get up at 6am and do it all over again. Such is life with a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old.
But, once in a while, the significance of the day really hits me. “It’s Friday night,” I’ll say to myself. And I’ll get that end-of-week excitement that I used to feel pre-kids. I’ll remember what it was like before we were parents. We wouldn’t even leave the house until when I now go to bed. We would stay out until when our kids now wake up!
“Yeah,” I’ll think to myself. “Let’s do something.”
Of course, our options are usually limited without a sitter.
“Wanna watch a movie tonight?” I’ll ask my husband at dinner, as our kids freak out over their vegetables and we wolf down our food in under five minutes—the amount of time it takes before our son and daughter descend into their post-dinner high (i.e. stripping off their clothes and running around in circles naked).
“Sure!” my husband responds, happily.
There was a time, shortly after having kids, when renting a movie on a Friday night felt like a cute cliché. “Guess this is what counts for excitement when you have a baby,” we’d laugh, thinking such couch-centric entertainment would soon be behind us. Now, six years later, it’s clear that this is anything but a phase. The fact that either of us has the audacity to even suggest staying up long enough to watch a movie to its completion is exciting.
So, it’s settled then. While my husband gives the kids their baths, I scroll through the On Demand choices on our TV. I like rom-coms; my husband prefers movies featuring guns or aliens. Perhaps I can find something that will please us both? A half an hour later, I think I’ve decided on something we can agree on.
And just in time, for my presence is now requested upstairs. Bedtime tuck-ins sound simple enough, but like in so many households, in ours they are anything but. One book becomes two. A simple song becomes a never-ending soundtrack. Someone pees. Someone needs water. No one wants to be alone in the dark.
It feels like hours, but in reality it’s only 15 super-draining minutes late before we’re shuffling back downstairs, our energy levels visibly depleted. My husband’s eyes are glazed over. “Are you sure you’re still up for a movie?” I ask him. “Yeah!” he assures me. It sounds desperate.
Perhaps a little too confidently, we proceed with the evening’s plans. I inform him of the movie choice. He makes the popcorn. One of us presses play. The opening credits are almost over before we hear it. “Waaaaahhhhhhh!” our daughter screams, the baby monitor beside us exploding with sound. It’s as if, sensing our enjoyment over something unrelated to her, our daughter feels compelled to interrupt. My husband and I look at each other, the question hanging unspoken in the air between us: “Who’s going up?”
“I’ll do it,” I say.
Then, from our son’s room: “Daaaaddy!!!”
Okay, we’re both going up.
I’m back downstairs in five minutes, but half an hour later there’s still no sign of my husband. A quick peek into my son’s bedroom reveals why: He’s been persuaded to lay down, and now both of them are sound asleep, my husband’s arm dangling over the side of the too-small bed. The question is, do I wake my husband up? The answer, it would seem, is: “How badly do I want to watch a rom-com?”
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I decide to peruse additional movie selections in my preferred genre in the event I’m spending the evening solo. However, it would seem that watching a movie trailer these days is akin to watching an actual movie! When did they start giving the entire plot away? Whatever isn’t revealed is easily filled in by my imagination.
After watching dozens of these tell-alls, I don’t feel much like watching a movie anyway. As for my husband, I probably should let him sleep regardless. He really needs the rest. Not to mention the extra sleep will mean he’ll have more energy to get up with the kids in the morning—allowing me to sleep in.
So, scratch the movie. I’ll catch up on “The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” instead and browse kid-friendly dinner recipes on Pinterest. And tomorrow night we’ll watch a movie—one that I haven’t seen the trailer for. Saturday nights are more weekend-y anyway. Friday nights are basically glorified weeknights!
I’ll fill my husband in on the change of plans tomorrow.
With the remote in my hand and my laptop beside me, I feel a sense of peace. It’s amazing how comforting it can be to be in charge of the household electronics.
I’ve watched one catfight and pinned six recipes before I hear it.
“Mommy!” my daughter cries. “I threw up!”
Ugh. There goes my Friday night…and the rest of the weekend for that matter.
Leah Black is the former executive editor of New York Family. She and her husband are the proud parents of Avi and Lily.
