Recently after church, we took our grandson his wife and children out to lunch. I had forgotten what a traumatic event dining out with children can be. I mean, how many years had it been?
At any rate, the restaurant we chose was considered family friendly. The waiting area is stocked with literally hundreds of attractive items that children of all ages find irresistible. Too, an unbelievable number of these are positioned just inches from the floor. Hum, wonder why this is? The 30-minute wait for a table seemed much longer.
Who to sit where presented challenges, too. You know, did the 3 year old really have to sit next to her mom or dad or was she advanced enough to feel safe and secure sitting next to great-gramma and pops? Not withstanding the danger, this is where she eventually ended up.
The 7 year old sat across from me next to her Auntie Diane. Our great-grandson sat toward the end of the table within close range of his father, and I do mean close range. Mother sat at the end of the table, where she kept close scrutiny on all childhood activity.
I had forgotten how challenging monitoring a 3 year old at table could be. All those little creamers and interesting pink packets, what fun to spread butter on pancakes and biscuits and how nice to have one’s own little bowl of cream gravy to dip things in, not to mention those tiny little bottles of syrup waiting to be emptied. Leaving the table, I couldn’t help but notice it looked as if a hand grenade had gone off in the middle of it.
The “main event” happened, though, as we were exiting the restaurant. Pops decided to carry our toe-headed little 3 year old, wearing her red velvet Christmas dress, out of the dining area, thus sparing her the temptation of all those floor-level items calling to her. She was having none of this. She screeched and screamed and yelled at the top of her lungs all the way through three packed dining rooms, flailing her arms and legs the whole while. Of course, the lobby was still packed with people waiting to be seated. I imagine more than a few were silently thinking, thank you God for letting this cup pass.
Later, on the way home, I asked my husband’s opinion about what people thought observing our spectacular exit from the restaurant. He replied, “nothing, it’s what 3 year olds do.”