Every once in a while you forget things, right? Like… oh man, did I leave on my curling iron? Or: Did the garage door close all the way? Is the alarm set? And what do you do? You go and double check.
Tonight I forgot something and had to experience it to remember. Wondering what it was? THAT I HAVE A THREE YEAR OLD AND A ONE YEAR OLD. Know what that means? I should NOT be allowed in a restaurant. Seriously. Embarrassing.
Off my mom, step dad, S, G and I go… happily skipping into the Japanese delicious dining center. I’m in denial, so excited for my soup they put crispies in and it pops in your mouth. And tea! And egg rolls!! Oh- egg rolls.. .delicious.
We go to sit down and my son is instantly bouncing on the booth seats and my daughter wants nothing to do with the high chair. We manage to get everyone seated. S kindly pours himself some ‘tea’ which doesn’t taste quite right. Turns out to be soy sauce. Got him a new cup as I look over to see my mom’s face after tasting her ‘tea’. Turns out to be soy sauce. Strike One.
We distract the kids with ice cubes. That gets us a few minutes peace. Luckily they are quick with the appetizers here so those come out quickly. G loves food and chows down on some cabbage salad for a while. S refuses to eat anything and is busy making ‘soup’ in his water glass. Yes, it does definitely involve spitting food into the glass for the desired texture.
G doesn’t really like much else beyond cabbage and rice apparently. Everything else she tastes and then whips (seriously… she might be a pitcher someday) into the areas in front of our neighboring booths while making a uh-uh noise. Strike Two.
S has relocated to the floor under the table. Seems safe and quiet. Next thing I notice he is under G’s high chair. Not so bad, right? A few minutes later he is LAYING in the middle of the floor with waitresses walking around him. He is making Japanese food angels out of the food G has discarded onto the floor. Strike Three. We are out.
This whole time I’ve disillusioned myself into thinking I could have a conversation with my parents. No such luck. Add to that I see five groups of people I know (which never happens) and there’s other families with kids that are behaving perfectly. Off we go to the car. Obviously my son was not a fan of this choice, so he was kicking and screaming while I tried to scoop him up. Then he crawled under the table screaming ‘I want ice cream!!!! I. Want. Ice. Cream!!!”. Who’s kid is this and what happened to mine?!
You forget things? You go back and check. So… check. No eating out for us.