Last night we decided to take the kids and try out a new little neighborhood restaurant that recently opened. It seemed like the obvious solution to the dinner dilemma since I didn’t feel like cooking, and we’d been running around all day trying to get a bunch of things done. Apparently, though, we’d forgotten to factor in just how wound up our kids were bound to be from lack of sleep. They were so obnoxious that I honestly felt like I was dining with two escaped monkeys from the zoo.
When we got to the restaurant, the kids immediately snapped into starvation mode. The moaning and groaning about how famished they were was such a lovely way to set the tone for the evening. I asked for some crackers and was able to pacify them for about two seconds while they jammed their mouths full. You would’ve never known that they’d just had a snack not even an hour before. We chose to sit in a corner booth, which my kids mistook for a jungle gym. They were crawling all over and under the thing, laughing and using anything but indoor voices. I felt like I needed to explain to the people behind us that I really do teach good manners in our house, and that these children with us were most certainly not ours.
When the food finally came, my daughter scarfed down her hot dog faster than you could say, “go,” while my son took his sweet old time eating one french fry at a time. I had to beg him fifty thousand times to start eating his cheeseburger so that he could have the dessert that his sister was incessantly whining about across the way. Because my daughter was already finished and therefore bored at having to just sit there and wait patiently, she decided to try to get my son all jazzed up. There was poking and kicking and ten kinds of squealing going on, all while my husband and I tried to enjoy our “family night out.” My son then decided to climb on me and paw me with his greasy little hands, as my daughter tried to force my husband to give her a piggyback ride at the table. I couldn’t help but think that somebody must’ve laced those damn crackers with crack-cocaine. What on earth was wrong with these wild banshee children?!
When my son FINALLY finished his cheeseburger in what could quite possibly be the slowest time it’s EVER taken someone to eat a cheeseburger, we ordered some ice cream for them because clearly sugar was EXACTLY what they needed. My daughter happily licked away at hers, while my son took one bite and announced that he didn’t like chocolate soft-serve ice cream, even though it tastes the exact same as regular chocolate ice cream. Naturally, it then became my duty to eat the ice cream — we couldn’t let a good dessert go to waste, now could we? I couldn’t believe it when my husband actually told my son that he’d take him across the street to get a regular chocolate ice cream cone. Seriously, the child is picky enough as it is — we certainly don’t need to be encouraging this behavior. It was about this time that I felt like I was out to dinner with my triplets, rather than my twins and my hubby.
The only saving grace in the whole dining experience was that the restaurant was a BYOB establishment, and luckily, we’d brought one of my favorite bottles of wine along with us. It was a whole lot easier to roll my eyes and shrug my shoulders when I had some good vino to keep me company. I guess the lesson learned was that taking the kiddos out for dinner after a full day of activities is not really in our best interests. That and to bring duct tape for my hubby’s bright ideas for dessert….