This was the dark declaration The Darling Husband muttered as I slid into the passenger seat beside him and buckled my seat belt. He was not looking too Darling either.
This statement followed what was meant to be a nice intimate evening out at a local restaurant, spent sharing a delicious Italian meal with my sister and her Handyman Husband and my niece. And the Boy.
The Boy at that moment was strapped into his car seat and wailing miserably. I handed him his favourite teddy in the hope that it would soothe him, but to no avail. The take-away polystyrene container and pizza box warmed my lap as we sped off leaving the car guard shaking his (empty) fist at our rapidly dwindling tail lights. Sorry, dude, next time.
I should have seen the signs, the tired eyes, the glazed look while he was watching CBeebies (mind you, i also get a glazed look when I watch CBeebies...). Anyway.
But the invitation to dinner, and a Dinner Out At A Restaurant(!), was too delicious to refuse. Despite the Darling Husband's offer to stay home and do the evening drill while I go out, I poo-poohed it aside and bundled us all into the car and we actually got to the restaurant on time. ON TIME!! (A rare occurrence in the Grizwald household.)
We were seated quickly and the evening started off without any hassle. Fantastic. The children received their own plate of pizza dough and mini rolling pins and cookie cutters along with liberal dustings of flour. The flour was meant for the dough rolling but most of it ended up on little faces, up sleeves and on my lap. No problemo.
I could see trouble brewing when any offers to help with the Boy's dough cutting was met with sullen scowls and petulant annoyance. I was eventually given the crumbly dough shapes but was berated for placing them 3mm off the specified spot (page 2 of the nice clean menu). O.Kay.
Ants had crept into sized 2-3yr pants and I had to take him on a tour of the restaurant. Not a very long tour as the restaurant is a "cosy" Italian joint and kids are not permitted into the pub area. By this point Mama was longing for a few gulps of her own rapidly warming semi-sweet.
A tall wooden giraffe proved a source of mild interest. But viewing of this giraffe could only be considered if Mama slid around full tables and risked bumping shoulders with her ass, apologizing profusely. Of course this giraffe was also touchable a few feet from our table and would cause no disturbance whatsoever via a different route, but that was Just Not Good Enough. How can such a small person be already so full of bullshit nonsense?
A tour pamphlet depicting cool nasty big sharks and cute penguins was studied for a while while Mama gingerly eased herself into her seat and tenuously tried stuffing a cold chip into the child's mouth. No go, and the wailing began. Some fish with the chips, baba? You like fish, remember? No? And the wailing increased in volume. The Husband is stony-faced and his pizza is barely touched. I did not want to be a mind reader at that moment.
My poor sister is gobbling her pasta down and her Handyman Husband is hastily trying to locate the waiter to request our meals as takeaways. My beautiful marinara pasta is dumped into a box with the whole Parmesan serving chucked on top for good measure. I swig the last few mouthfuls of wine and wipe the drops from my chin. We're outta here.
I'm sure I heard the collective sigh of relief from the patrons around us as we exited the establishment, trailing teddies, jackets and crumbly burnt dough lumps.
He moaned the whole way home, the whole way up the stairs and back down again. The child was so bone tired that he fell asleep right away after finishing his bottle of milk. Phew, peace and quiet. My pasta can finally be appreciated and I get a giggle from my niece by sticking a prawn head with tickly feelers on my finger and singing a silly tune. My sister and HH assure us they went through the same thing and its only lately that they can now go out without too much hassle. My niece is 7. Happy days.
So. A warning word of advice to new parents - never attempt going out with a tired child, especially at the end of a long day. I have now decided to learn my lesson. As inconvenient as that decision may be.
Oh, and never go out with the idea of enjoying a relaxing meal together while your cherub plays quietly, odour-free and happy to just Sit Still. You will always eat in relays, scoffing down your food in the attempt to go relieve the other parent's shift. Okay, I don't scoff too quickly anymore as I've had more than my share of "first shifts".
You will undoubtedly get to explore every restaurant you visit, willingly or unwillingly pulled along by little arms with a surprisingly strong grip, and longing for another sip of wine.
Your food will be cold and your wine will be warm by the time you get to tasting the first bite as you have been cutting up the child's food into a trillion tiny pieces and making sure he ingests just a few.
Instead of leaving the restaurant relaxed and satiated you will probably be leaving more harassed and exasperated than when you entered. Expect this.
Having related all this I still enjoy taking The Boy with us when we go out. Most days he is really fun to be with and good company, just don't take him out when he needs a nap, or has an ear infection. This hands-on decision may cramp our style(style? us? do we have any?) or even earn us some bothered looks but too bad. We're a family and we stick together. Even if its with a few lumps of sticky pizza dough...
 |
| My favourite movie family, the Grizwalds.... |
No comments:
Post a Comment