Not going out

I'm not particularly the going out type.  Not without the children, and not on a regular basis, anyway.  I don't hanker after nights on the town.  I wouldn't even know what to do at a nightclub.  Ordinarily, I prefer to settle the sleepy children in their beds and curl up on the sofa to watch sitcoms and soaps.  Though a meal out can be lovely, I would often rather cook at home and invite someone round.  I'm not much of a drinker either, so trips to the pub don't hold huge appeal.

You know there's a but, don't you?

You see, the thing is, I've secured two free cinema tickets for Tuesday and I'd like to go.  I've invited a friend.  But I can't go.  I literally cannot go.  I am fortunate that I have people to ask to babysit but they are busy with their own lives.  Fair enough.  But that's it, I'm in.  Trapped.  Slightly over-dramatic way of putting it, perhaps, but this is how it feels.

I feel guilty for saying that I would actually like to go out for the evening, yet frustrated that it isn't an option. 

Guilty because it sounds as though I would prefer to be out having fun than in with the children.

Guilty because I have a lot to be thankful for yet I would like this little bit more.

Guilty because staying in with the children should be enough.

Frustrated because it is such a small thing yet it is impossible. 

Frustrated because freedom feels like a distant memory.

Frustrated because I didn't think a time would come when I literally couldn't get out on my own. 

Spoilt by an accommodating partner, perhaps.

But is once in two or three months (I can't actually remember when the last time was) really too much to ask?

I'm not talking all night.  Just four hours, two of which are past the kids' bedtime so they wouldn't even be much trouble, nor would they have much chance to miss me.

Regardless, it isn't happening.  I'm not going out.

However, there is at least Jasmine's parents' evening on Thursday.  Something to look forward to.