Last night, our friends agreed to babysit, so my husband and I could go out for dinner. This dinner has been 18 months in the making. But that's another story...
The food was delicious (it always is, when it's cooked by someone else), and when we finished, we called home and found out both boys were fast asleep, so we decided to go all out, and catch a movie, too.
We decided on Beneath Hill 60, an Australian war movie, about miners who were brought in to secretly tunnel under the German front line, during WW1.
I really enjoyed it. Spent most of the movie on the edge of my seat.
In one scene, they are taken by truck, to Belgium, during the night. There are shells landing all around, and in the headlights of the truck, there are people fleeing along the sides of the road. The headlights caught a mother, stumbling along the side of the road, her crying baby in her arms, and it was like someone put a knife through me.
I thought about my babies, home in bed, safe and warm, and I was so thankful. There are no words to describe just how much.
Even as I type, there are women in the world, trying to shield their babies from danger, desperately trying to find food for their hungry mouths, trying to keep them quiet so they are not discovered by soldiers.
Imagine being one of those mothers, helpless to protect your children from the terror, the hunger, and the utter chaos.
My babies are safe, but my chest hurts when I think of all those babies who aren't.
When the movie finished, we strolled through the city centre and stopped to have a look at a couple of the clubs.
I'll let you in on a little secret, here...
Seeing as I'm such a pillar of the community (ha!), you may be surprised to know that I was, once, quite the party animal.
I was the girl who danced the night away, and then turned up to my HSC exams without having so much as a wink of sleep. Imagine my guilty surprise, when I topped the class in all my exams and got Dux of Year 12.
And yes, I confess that sometimes when I'm surrounded by poo-ey nappies, and whining kids, and I still have my 'jama pants on at 11am, I think about those days wistfully, when I was young and free, and ruled the dancefloor.
But last night, I saw that I'm really not missing out on anything.
Unless you've got a soft spot for persistent strangers, and bad kebabs.
What I have is a husband who thinks I am amazing (who am I to argue?), two healthy children who get to grow up in the land of opportunity, and my biggest worries are over sleep habits, and whether I should follow my passion for writing.
So grateful, I am.