By Michelle Kennedy
I have discovered a new scent that drives my husband absolutely wild. It’s called, “Eau de Deep Woods Off.” It’s a good thing that he likes it so much, because it’s generally the only scent I even consider putting on.
It’s not that I don’t wander down the cosmetics aisle at the department store looking wistfully at scents like, “Beach” and “Passion.” It’s simply that while I am looking, generally someone under the age of 10, who seems to belong to me, is spraying the perfume samples on passing customers or decorating the display cases with the samples of lipstick.
In days B.C. (before children), preparations for sex were reasonably effortless. Of course there was the agonizing over what underwear to put on (“If I go for sexy, am I being presumptuous?”), what dress to wear or even: “Do I ask him up for the proverbial drink after the date?” The list seems almost trite now, even if the freedom is alluring.
Now, planning for an evening of unfettered joy is like planning a paramilitary operation. Each effort must be timed accordingly. Each move made carefully. Dinner must at once be both nutritious and disposable—not requiring too much clean-up so as not to spoil the requisite after-dinner family activities. Bedtimes must be set so as to leave a buffer zone for the unavoidable requests for additional water, more stories and general “I don’t want to go to bed” whining.
My husband and I prepare for the operation with an initial meeting in the garage.
Kissing him on the back of the neck, I say, “You put Liam and Alex to bed with a movie and I’ll get the baby to sleep. I’ll tell Matt and Lyd (the older two) that they can stay up and watch the Red Sox. Then I’ll give Jack a bath and read to him. He’s pretty tired so he should fall asleep quickly.”
Rubbing my back slightly, he says, “Alex and Liam’s VCR doesn’t work, so you’ll have to get the one from the basement even though it doesn’t rewind.”
“Oh, turn me on with your VCR-repair talk,” I reply, breathing heavily.
After dinner we are chilling on the sofa, playing a board game with the kids. I may be buying Park Place on the outside, but on the inside I am breaking out the bottle of wine I picked up on my way home from story time at the library.
The game is won and the stories are read. Moving quickly and quietly, we send each child away. We anticipate drinks of water, we snuggle, tuck and retrieve lost bears with ease. Finally, we are ready. Grown up time! Fun and joy: begin now!
I head to the bathroom to do some “freshening up.” My goal is to somehow transform from tired old woman into sweet young thing. I shower. I primp. I wince. I am mostly satisfied with the final result when I emerge from vanity central.
In the bedroom, I see that my husband has done some preparing on his own. The room is beautiful. Candles are glowing. Incense lends a romantic air to the room. He’s even changed the sheets. (OK, maybe not a turn on for you, but this means love to me!)
Just as the first kiss begins … yup, you guessed it. A crying child from quadrant one. Still on alert, I run to the section with the hope, however fleeting it may be, that this child will not set off a chain reaction and wake up every other child in the house.
But alas, I am wrong and the requests for more water and yet another kiss are flying.
So, after an extended tour of duty, the weary warrior returns to HQ, only to find her Knight in Shining Armor snoring amid the glow and scent of a perfect evening.
Disappointed, but not daunted, I lie in bed, sipping my wine, watching Letterman and scheming yet another enchanted evening.
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