One Please.

Last evening I told my husband that I would like to attend a Tai Chi class being given at our church. I said I needed some quiet time, some me time. He agreed to put the kids to bed and I left.

The nice lady giving the class looked like the last person you'd expect as your Tai Chi instructor so I thought I just might have to chalk it up to a nice time where I don't learn much. Boy, I was wrong. She was certified in Tai Chi for arthritis. I don't have arthritis, but I've inherited my family's bad knees and this modified Tai Chi was just what they needed--all the benefit of Tai Chi without the squat-induced knee stress.

I left the class vowing to repeat daily and pursue more Tai Chi in my life. As I sat in the parking lot, I called my kind husband to see if Ethan was refusing to sleep until I got home, or if I could safely stop at the grocery store. He assured me all was well and I should go do whatever I wanted, stay out as late as I wanted to.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Just let me know when to expect you home."

I know this sounds like a conversation I should have had as a teenager with my father, and in fact, I felt like a teenager with an extended curfew.

I don't know about the rest of you, but small children are a much more powerful behavioral influence and curfew control than any parental lecture could ever be. Even in the rare evening I get a sitter, I'm always concerned about the sitter's time, my money and the behavior of my children. I'm worried about getting home later than I said I would and so on and so forth, so I rarely feel really relaxed, even if I get out.

The one exception to this is when my husband can clear his evening and is willing to be a single dad for a night. I doubt he realizes just how much this means to me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy going out with my husband, but the coordination effort involved usually renders the evening less enjoyable than it could have been. So, I really really enjoy going out with myself.

So, I quickly decided to go see a movie!!

A co-worker of mine once describe solo movie-going as some horribly shameful event. I love going to movies by myself. As long as I can remember, this has been one of my favorite past-times. Movies, plays, restaurants, cemeteries, long walks, you name it. I thoroughly enjoy being alone. I enjoy thinking. I enjoy quiet. I realize that is surprising considering how much I talk.

I cannot sit and watch a movie at home. I am compelled to fold laundry, do dishes, blog, whatever. But, a movie in the theater is a rare treat.

Thank you 1-800-555-1212 and Fandango. FairyLand, though beautiful, is far from civilization. My Tai Chi class was already a 30 minute drive. As I discovered, a movie was another 30. I did the math, phoned my husband to say I'd be home around 1am and stopped by the grocery store. I threw in a cream soda and a package of fig newtons and headed to the theater.

I pulled up in my minivan at 9:30 pm on a Tuesday, stuffed my sometime diaper bag, sometime purse with my goodies, walked myself in my mismatched, FairlyLand dusty, South-sweaty, Tai Chi-ed in sweats up to the window.

One please.

The theater was empty. Is there a movie if no one is there to see it?

I sat down and immediately the lights dimmed. I think they were waiting for me.

I put my feet up, pulled out my contraband goodies and laughed out loud in the dark.

My hour drive back to FairyLand was itself refreshing. When I turn up the stereo, roll down the windows and push it 9 over the speed limit, I almost forget I'm driving a minivan.