Guest blogger Blythe Newsome: When I was married, Saturday was our date night. My husband and I would always get a sitter and go out and spend time together. Now that I am single, though, Saturday night is probably my least-favorite night of the week. My ex-husband and I have worked things out so that I still have Saturday night free as a "date night." The problem is filling in the "date" part.
I recently heard that after 40, a woman has a better chance of being bitten by a
king cobra or being hit on the head by falling space debris than she does of getting
remarried. And after a few bad dates, I have decided that waiting for a king cobra
to strike or for something to fall out of the sky and hit me on the head might actually be a better option.
Alas, most of my Saturday nights are spent with my six little dates (a.k.a. my kids).
Saturday, we spent a long day unpacking the last few boxes in the new house, which led to one of the many arguments between the kids. I decided that we needed to get
out, and took the gang for pizza. As we were driving along, the children were bantering and bickering back and forth
about various things and I was lost in my own thoughts, going over the list of things I
needed to get accomplished before another week of school started. Suddenly, out
of nowhere, a police officer pulled me over. I did not even see the police car behind me with the lights flashing until the guy turned on his siren as a signal for me to pull over.
The kids, in a moment of unity, said, "Uh-oh -- you're in trouble." My teenage
daughter was quick to suggest that I take my hair down, in case it was a "hot
cop." (This is the sweet child who informs me that she will pick out my nursing
home before she lets me come live with her, so I'd better get working on my
life.) I had no idea why the police officer was stopping me. I drive a huge SUV, and
with the weight of six kids and a car full of so many Goldfish crackers,
backpacks, books, mismatched shoes, coats and other surprises, it does not move
After slowly and cautiously walking up to the SUV, the cop told me that my brake
light was out and that my tag and registration would be expiring soon. He said that they were making random checks (lucky me!), and that I should be sure and get that
renewed. He informed me that if the tag and registration went beyond the
expiration date of six months, I could be arrested. (Hmm ... those are probably words you should never say to a stressed-out mom.)
The police officer asked if he could see my license and registration. I opened
the glove compartment, and out poured CD's, papers, a
toothbrush, an old banana and some fruit snacks. As I wrestled to pull the melted
gummy-fruit snacks off the registration, I asked the kids to hand me my purse, which had made its way into the arms of my 5-year-old son, Finn.
I had just tried to give the officer my best "I have it together" smile when Finn began
to scream. He refused to let go of my purse. My 7-year-old daughter, Elspeth, told the officer to "Tase" him -- and once again, the children found something they all agreed on. They all started chanting, "Tase Finn! Tase Finn!"
I once read somewhere that prisoners can't do kitchen duty and laundry duty at the same time, because that is considered "cruel and inhumane." (Funny, most moms do both the laundry and the cooking every day, and no one ever calls that an injustice!) Anyway, I looked at the
officer and told him I thought jail sounded nice. Looking a bit overwhelmed himself, he said, "Don't worry about it" -- and walked away.
Incredible: This was the closest a man had been to me in a
long time, and I couldn't even get him to stick around long enough to write his
name on a ticket!
But at least this "date night" had a happy ending: My six
little dates all ended up singing something in unison!