dates

So, Annabelle and I have started “dating.”  Each week, for one hour, she and I spend time together doing mom and daughter stuff, one-on-one.  We usually leave the house; we’ll go to the library, book stores, coffee houses, the grocery store, the thrift shop, Target, wherever  . . .  our date often includes one chocolate milk (for her) and one peppermint tea (for me) and lots of giggling (both of us).  It’s sort of like our days pre-Levi, except that it’s not . . . we know that we get to go home to her brother and dad and have a good time talking about what she and I did together.

As we drove home from one of our recent outings, I asked her a few questions about our dates.  First, I asked her, “Annabelle, did you have fun on our date?”

From the backseat, she yelled, “Yeah!”

I asked, “What did you like about our date?”  We’d run errands to the pharmacy and grocery store.  I bought her bubble gum tape.  She said, “Um, I liked C.V.S.   I like my new gum.”

Then I asked, “Do you like going on dates with Mommy?”

“Yeah!”

“Do you know what a date is?”

A pause.  ”Yes.”

“Well . . . ”

“It’s when Mommy and Annabelle go on a date,” she announced with a huge grin.

“Okay, yeah, it’s sort of like that.  But, what else?  Is it special?”

“Yeah! Only Mommy and Annabelle go.  No Levi.  No Daddy.  Just Mommy and me.”

It sounded to me like she understood that “dates” are special times when two people spend time together.  So I asked her, “Do you want to go on a date with anyone else?”

“Uh . . . yeah!  I want to go with Nanna.  First, she can take me to the bookstore and the train table.  And then we can go to the park and then I can get a pop-is-pop [Annabelle's word for popsicle].  Mommy, do you think we could do that?”

“I think so,” I said.  My mom is supposed to be in town in another few weeks; I’m thinking her Nanna would a date with her granddaughter.  I know I’m enjoying these special girls-only outings.

They tend to look something like this: