I’m about to tell you the story of what happens when Daddy picks the restaurant for dinner.
My mom is in town this week and we planned to take her out to dinner tonight. Yancy was in charge of picking the restaurant. I gave him one instruction: It’s got to be kid friendly.
So, we arrived at Boa Steakhouse right on time for our reservation. I walked in, holding Gus’s hand tightly while he skipped and jumped, tugging my arm forward. We entered into this:
It’s a beautiful place. I know. Just NOT the place for a toddler. Especially my toddler. I felt all eyes boring into us as we made our way to the lounge to wait for our table. Each one asking, “Why would you bring a kid here?”
Believe me, I was asking myself the same question. But we’d look silly walking out. And besides it was Friday night. We only had a brief window to eat before we dropped Yancy and Gus back off at the house before our movie started. My mom deserved a nice dinner. I held my breath and prepared for battle.
Thank God we were taken to the rear of the restaurant where another family had made the same mistake and brought along their child. My relief was short lived as apparently their toddler boy had taken ZanaxÂ before arriving as he sat still and quiet for the entire time.
Of course, there wasn’t a kids meal which meant no crayons to color with and we’d be spending lots of cash for a meal Gus probably wouldn’t touch. We each took turns trying to entertain Gus and keep him from playing drums with all of the different forks lining the table. Reminding him every two minutes to talk quietly. Asking Gus to talk quietly is like asking me to stop breathing.
We were doing a fairly decent job up until Gus decided to take a drink of his water. A drink from the very dainty water glasses covering our table. I’d been watching him like a hawk every time he took a drink to keep him from making a mess. He put the glass to his lips and suddenly, crunch. The rim of the glass shattered in his mouth.
“Spit it out!” I screamed. So much for inside voices. He did. The shards went right into Yancy’s hand. I ferociously cleaned out his mouth with my fingers. I stuck my finger everywhere. I scrubbed his tongue. I alternated hand to napkin obsessively. Finally, I stopped. Luckily, it didn’t even cut him. And so far all seems well.
But this is what I do know. This is what happens when daddy picks a kid friendly restaurant. And daddy WILL NOT be picking a kid friendly restaurant again. Ever.