Thoughts from an evening out

So Kristy and I went out for the evening. Together. Just the two of us, and Theoneinsidekristy. (We were trying to think of the last date we had where a child wasn't present in some form, and we gave up after a few minutes.)

Two things jumped out at me from our date:

Big Thing #1: Man, do I love Olive Garden's breadsticks and alfredo dipping sauce.

We went to Olive Garden for dinner, as we seem to always do when we get the chance. And every time, I order a little bowl of alfredo dipping sauce, and every time I do, my mouth starts to water. They bring the sauce and the breadsticks, and the entire rest of the meal is almost inconsequential. Until I discovered their Tuscan TBone, which I didn't have last night, but which is the best prepared piece of meat I've ever had.

So I'm just totally enjoying the taste of this sauce with the bread, and I'm trying to think of another taste that I like this much. And my mind goes back to when I was seven. I was a second-grader at Blessed Hope Christian Academy, and the school was having a fundraiser event (I think it was an alumni basketball game or something). Anyway, my mom made this pan of carrot cake, with this thick layer of cream cheese frosting on the top, and they served pieces of it at the concession stand. For some reason, they didn't even charge anything.

So I had a piece, and, oh my word, it was awesome. It was everything that cake aspires to be, but rarely ever is, you know? So I had another piece. My seven-year-old mind quickly realized that I could sneak up to the counter between adults, grab a little plate with a piece of the cake, and be gone before anyone even noticed.

I distinctly remember eating ten pieces of carrot cake that night. And I also distinctly remember sitting on the stage, watching the game, and thinking two dichotemous (is that a word?) thoughts: 1) I'm pretty sure I'd feel a lot better if I could throw up right now, and 2) I wonder if there's any carrot cake left.

Eating the breadsticks and alfredo dipping sauce last night was kind of like that. Except for my not being seven anymore. And being with my wife. And my fourth child.

Other than that - just like it.

So after we finished dinner, we went to the Peoria Riverfront, and strolled through the district and along the river. It was a gorgeous night, with a clear sky and a bright, full moon. The temperature had gone down enough that it wasn't a burden to be outside. We leaned against the railing and watched boats and barges and moonbeams float by.

And suddenly, I'm struck with the need to say something. To have a conversation. Say something romantic, something substantive. Talk about our dreams, our life, something. I tried a thing or two, and it just wasn't happening.

And then, Big Thing #2 dawned on me:

Right now is a time that I can just Be.

I don't have to talk. I don't have to do. I don't have to discuss, explain, rationalize, defend. I don't have to encourage, discourage, sound poignant, be funny.

I can just sit next to her, feel the breeze on my face, hold her hand for a few moments here and there, and just be with her.

And so I did.