Quick Recap: I took the boy to see the Justin Bieber movie. Even though he fell asleep and I needed some help to exit the theater, it was the best date I’ve had in a long time, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world. (See below for the details.)
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I’ve written about one-on-one time in the past, and I’ve been thinking more and more about how important it is.

My daughter was having a sleepover at her dad’s house on Friday night, so I planned a “date” with Boo. Yes, I took my son to see the Justin Bieber movie. My six year-old boy (who I just want to cast a spell on lately to freeze him in time, he’s so freaking cute) was so excited to see that movie and go spend his Book It certificate on his personal pan pizza at “Pizza Hunt.”

Work ran a little later than I had hoped, so he spent some time down the street playing with a friend. When I called to say I’d pick him up in 20 minutes, I learned that he was watching the clock per my previously communicated goal of 6:15, and was already bundled up in coat and boots. (Oops!)

We arrived at the theater, and I was astonished to see a line of bustling teens spilling out the door. (SMACK in the forehead – I haven’t gone to a weekend-night movie in AGES!) I worried that our Bieber fever would be broken by previously-ticketed masses, but nope… The theater was not too packed. I let Boo pick out the seats, and we settled in to dodge 3-D objects and laugh our butts off at the Kung Fu Panda staring contest.

The movie started, and I mainly watched him watching the young Justin Bieber smacking away at the drums with more skill than a toddler usually displays.

The movie went on, and Boo started to get restless. I did my best to keep him comfy as I watched the movie, riveted.

Boo fell asleep. I enjoyed the film. I chuckled at the girls interviewed in the movie, and the ones who popped up to sing and dance during the confetti-filled 3-D finale.

Suddenly, the movie was over, and I sat with a 45 pound boy sawing logs on my lap. His boots were kicked off on the dark floor, and I couldn’t find my keys.

I bothered a teenage couple to help me get his boots on, as he bobbled, dead weight on my arm. They politely complied, but I wasn’t about to ask them to look through my purse for my keys. No, no – I waited until the kids came in with the brooms to clean the theater. They were very sweet, and one of them shined his flashlight into my purse, where my keys stared back at me instantly, as if I hadn’t been digging for them in a panic for at least 3 minutes.

Finally, I slung Boo over my shoulder and carried him through the masses. The glow from my amazing teenage interactions of the evening was dulled (if only momentarily) by a couple my age who dropped the door on me, looking back without apology, and I made it through the March rain to the car.

We never got to “Pizza Hunt” that night, but the second thing B-boy said to me the next morning was “I had a really nice time last night, Mom.” The first thing he said was “Mwahhhhh – we didn’t go to Pizza Hunt…” I told him the whole story, and he repeated it to his sister almost verbatim the minute we picked her up. I’m pretty sure he’ll repeat it again, somewhere.

We used his pizza coupon later in the day.

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