When you're broke, “date night” is really a rented movie on a night when you either manage to get the kids to bed early, or bribe a family member to take them for a few hours. You fix something fancy for dinner, which is really something that doesn't have hot dogs, macaroni, or tuna fish as a main ingredient. You get out the nice dishes, which may or may not match, depending on if your kids have broken enough pieces in your set yet, and the remaining two forks in the house that do not have cartoon characters on the handle.
You sit next to each other on the couch, and pay attention to your movie, more or less, and try to ignore the fact that you can't put your feet on the floor without stepping on Play-Doh. Half way through the movie, you notice that there's crayon on the TV screen, and that Orlando Bloom does not, in fact, have green streaks in his hair. You fight the urge to get off the couch and do some house cleaning. After all, you're having a romantic evening.
Your whole evening feels forced, and slightly uncomfortable. You're trying too hard. For a moment, you wonder if the romance has died completely, for you to have to stage it to such a degree.
And then, the movie ends. The kids need picked up. You drive across town, in silence, and buckle two sleepy children into car seats. The drive home is filled with quiet murmuring about what the sitter said the kids ate for dinner, and how well behaved they are when they're sleeping.
Bringing two sleeping children into the house without waking them is a complicated dance. Each of you pulls a slumbering form from the car. Little faces nuzzle into your necks, and you catch each other nuzzling the curls atop their little heads, before your eyes meet and you grin sheepishly at each other. No matter how quickly they grow, they're still babies.
You lay one in the crib; he lays the other in a toddler bed. You creep out, making sure to step over the floorboard that creaks and the toys near the door. He trips over Glo-Worm, and the room is suddenly flooded with sound and light. Both of you hold your breath, and then release nervous giggles as you hear the children sigh, turn over, and return to sleep. Both of you go for the door at once, and yet again, you stifle yourselves as you try not to fall out into the hall.
Once you manage to get far enough from the room, the two of you erupt into chatter. You collapse onto the couch together, and finally laugh. The forced formality of the evening has ended.
Finally, your romantic evening begins.