When my husband and I met in our mid-twenties, I was living in a hip neighborhood in downtown Minneapolis. He and I both worked full-time during the day, but we spent every manageable minute outside of work together. We rollerbladed, we ran, and we enjoyed deep philosophical conversations in low-lighted coffeehouses. We sipped wine at wine bars. We often saw two matinees a week. We were always on the go, reveling in each other's company.

When we decided to get married and then eventually to have children, we had this wonderfully romantic idea that even though our life was about to change radically, we would still find time to go on a date every two weeks. We boasted to our other married friends that we would still date, no matter what, ignoring their quietly pessimistic "I hope it works for you."

After the first baby, it wasn't too difficult. We had a plethora of free babysitters and we took full advantage. Every two weeks we went out for coffee together or to dinner with friends. We still ran, still rollerbladed, and still sipped wine in hip wine bars. We bragged to our naysayers that against all odds, we were still dating.

Little did we know . . . things were about to change. We had a second baby, which wasn't nearly so disastrous to our dating life as our buying a house and moving away from our free babysitters. Suddenly, it was costing us twice as much to go out on one date, and that was only if we could find a babysitter available for the evening we wanted to go out! The expense of buying a home, having two kids in diapers, and paying for a babysitter gobbled up our desire to get out.

So we stopped dating, and we slowly began to lose touch with each other. Our friends had been right. It was too hard to be hip parents who dated and had time for each other and still had resources left over for the kids.

In due course, we decided to challenge the notion, and took great lengths to creatively reintroduce dating to our life. We created "Burnsie Cafe" which only opened after the children went to bed. I lit tea lights, incense, turned on some hip jazz music, and brewed strong coffee. Then we sat down at our kitchen table and recreated many of our conversations from coffeehouses past. We bought a second jogging stroller and began rollerblading and running together again. Perhaps it wasn't quite the same as a carefree run along the lake, but the children were occupied and we were again doing the things that we loved to do together.

And ultimately, we decided that an exclusive date every two weeks no longer fit our lifestyle, but a date once a month was necessary to a healthy relationship. So every month we plan a date. We get a babysitter. We leave the kids. We brush up on things to talk about, and we go out on a date -- two hip parents working hard to stay connected while they raise their kids.