Dad took me out for our anniversary one year. Not that he's only done it's once or anything, but this one I remember for two reasons: 1) we really didn't have the money for such an expensive restaurant and 2) we took you two boys with us as we didn't have money for both a babysitter AND a hoity toity restaurant.
So we're seated at a nice table in the dimly lit main dining room. I have to swiftly usher the candle from your easy grasp before you're able to set your sights too keenly on it. I've learned, a brief glimpse is fine but I better not give you any time to ponder the possibilities or a stick of dynamite wouldn't detour you from your goal. Most days I think your goal is chaos of any and all denominations, so really, why would I feed into that? Just more work for me.
At any rate, I swift away the fire (to hell with ambiance) and softly hum to the musak wafting by us between breaths of mouth-watering foodly noises and peruse the menu. My humming takes on the edge of hysteria as a sea of prices slam repeatedly into my conscience ("we shouldn't be here", "this is way too high", "I could feed the monsters....um...sweet curious boys for 2 weeks on this")ad nauseum. But after a glass (or was it 2?) of wine I'm much more receptive to their playful price gouging and begin to place our order.
But there's something wrong. It's subtle but palpable. It's not a smell...no those are never subtle in our lives. No this is not eminating from us though it involves us. I look around. Nobody appears to be on fire or otherwise interested even remotely in any of us, but still it lingers...the wrongness. I venture a glance up at our waiter's face and get my answer. He looks....peculiar...part disgusted and part amused...or is that fear? Whatever. I follow his gaze which lands squarely on the two of you. One of you is busily eating which surprises me as we have yet to order. The other is giggling softly over something you're attempting to hide behind your hands...how cute. Cute until I pull your hands away and find one blue and one green crayola nearly half-way lost in both nostrils. The mommy in me chooses that exact moment to register the facts surrounding your brother's monster-like smacking yum-yum noises and if he didn't get his food from on TOP of the table then he must have........OH DEAR GOD!
Somehow I managed to order dinner, dislodge and dispose of the crayolas as well as swipe your brother's poor choice in appetizers without showing even 1/3 of the anxiety I felt. I bet I made it look flawless. At least that's how it exists in my memory and if your father doesn't ruin that by divulging that I in fact shrieked hysterically and mumbled a thousand apologies in under 5 seconds, that's how it will exist for all time. Especially now that I've made it permanent and available on the world wide web.
I have no idea what we ate, but I know the bill was over $80 and I wondered for months if it had been worth it. I now know that it was, if only for the memory of perfectly imperfect parenthood. The memory alone is worth the tab, though I'll admit it took the distance of time to come to that conclusion. And you may wonder why I bring this up now...when you're both too cool to put things in your nose or eat off of the floor (well, for ONE of you that's true). The title says it all.
Love,
Mom
So we're seated at a nice table in the dimly lit main dining room. I have to swiftly usher the candle from your easy grasp before you're able to set your sights too keenly on it. I've learned, a brief glimpse is fine but I better not give you any time to ponder the possibilities or a stick of dynamite wouldn't detour you from your goal. Most days I think your goal is chaos of any and all denominations, so really, why would I feed into that? Just more work for me.
At any rate, I swift away the fire (to hell with ambiance) and softly hum to the musak wafting by us between breaths of mouth-watering foodly noises and peruse the menu. My humming takes on the edge of hysteria as a sea of prices slam repeatedly into my conscience ("we shouldn't be here", "this is way too high", "I could feed the monsters....um...sweet curious boys for 2 weeks on this")ad nauseum. But after a glass (or was it 2?) of wine I'm much more receptive to their playful price gouging and begin to place our order.
But there's something wrong. It's subtle but palpable. It's not a smell...no those are never subtle in our lives. No this is not eminating from us though it involves us. I look around. Nobody appears to be on fire or otherwise interested even remotely in any of us, but still it lingers...the wrongness. I venture a glance up at our waiter's face and get my answer. He looks....peculiar...part disgusted and part amused...or is that fear? Whatever. I follow his gaze which lands squarely on the two of you. One of you is busily eating which surprises me as we have yet to order. The other is giggling softly over something you're attempting to hide behind your hands...how cute. Cute until I pull your hands away and find one blue and one green crayola nearly half-way lost in both nostrils. The mommy in me chooses that exact moment to register the facts surrounding your brother's monster-like smacking yum-yum noises and if he didn't get his food from on TOP of the table then he must have........OH DEAR GOD!
Somehow I managed to order dinner, dislodge and dispose of the crayolas as well as swipe your brother's poor choice in appetizers without showing even 1/3 of the anxiety I felt. I bet I made it look flawless. At least that's how it exists in my memory and if your father doesn't ruin that by divulging that I in fact shrieked hysterically and mumbled a thousand apologies in under 5 seconds, that's how it will exist for all time. Especially now that I've made it permanent and available on the world wide web.
I have no idea what we ate, but I know the bill was over $80 and I wondered for months if it had been worth it. I now know that it was, if only for the memory of perfectly imperfect parenthood. The memory alone is worth the tab, though I'll admit it took the distance of time to come to that conclusion. And you may wonder why I bring this up now...when you're both too cool to put things in your nose or eat off of the floor (well, for ONE of you that's true). The title says it all.
Love,
Mom
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