Check please!!!!!!!!!!

When the girls were just infants and I took them to visit M and her boys, I was a bit disappointed that, instead of having a proper lunch in a restaurant, she immediately informed me that she’d be making us lunch. And, during our next visit, when tummies began to grumble, M again took the reins and had her sister run to get us carry-out at the local Applebees. Not that I don’t enjoy her cooking or am above Applebees’ carry-out. I just thought, since we don’t get together often and I hadn’t been to many restaurants since the Beans arrived, we could go to a place where the food was prepared and hot and we didn’t have to clean up a thing.

Now, I understand. I know exactly what she was doing two years ago. She was protecting her sanity, averting disaster, saving me from the ugly truth.

Toddlers and restaurants don’t go together well.

I shouldn’t lump the whole lot of them into one sticky, food throwing, hollering, defiant group. They don’t all become irrascible messes upon entering “eating places” (a Bean phrase). And even the most polite and well-mannered little human has her moment. Kids are unpredictable. I’m just now realizing this. It’s been two and a half years, give me a break.

The Beans arewere very well-mannered. We are were the parents that smile sympathetically at the table next to us, filled with screaming kids, while our little angels sit quietly coloring their menus. Of course, they’d have their moments, individually, and we’d easily quell the storm by whispering encouragements into their ear or taking them for a little walk to the restroom. And then we’d resume our delightful dinner in peace, able to carry on a decent conversation while the girls occupied themselves with people-watching and their own personal conversation.

In the past month or so, that pretty little picture of dining enjoyment has been scribbled over with a non-washable marker. If it’s not the fact that they don’t want to sit in their booster seats or high chairs, it’s that their BLUE crayon has fallen to the floor for the eleventy millionth time. Food is boycotted, milk is spilled, threats are ignored. If we’re lucky, that’s the end of it. If we’re unlucky, there is crying, defiance, even yelling. It’s only happend three times but we’ve quickly learned our lesson. The kicker is that the minute we leave the restaurant, exhausted and beaten, M&A revert to their usual well-behaved selves.

Today I mentioned to J that I felt like Italian. He looked at me like I was nuts and reminded me that the night before the girls had made a quick mess of things at a very family friendly, loud, balloon and ice cream sundae chain. I remembered telling my dad, who we had invited to come along, that I was glad that he was able to see his perfect little angels like this.

Fine. Carry-out it is. I placed the order, more than a little bit resentful. And then I remembered the look of terror that flashed on M’s face two years ago when we began discussing lunch. This is what had frightened her so much. I get it now!

I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact that dinners out would have to be saved for date nights or until the girls are out of this phase. Hopefully the phase is short because date nights are few and far between.