Nowadays, when Sonia and I are brave enough to cart a two-year-old and two-month-old to a public dining establishment, there is a series of bases to cover and consider that have absolutely nothing to do with what we're ordering off the menu (Boo to that). So here are the bullet points to note before I journey out to that authentic Australian joint, The Outback...
* Steak is out of the question
A filet mignon is a single man's meal. It requires two free hands and a good 20 minutes, neither of which I have. A burger is a possibility, but if I'm being realistic, the safest bet is a pasta dish, something that will yield edible leftovers because God knows I won't have time to focus on what I actually fucking ordered.
* At some point, there will be a person on my lap, who will likely be crying
For one reason or another, my older son refuses to stay stationary when we're eating out somewhere. I asked him why and the guy's like a vault, flat out refuses to answer. Because of this, he winds up either falling under the table or worse, introducing himself to the unfriendly codgers at the table next to us. Ultimately, I'm left with little choice but to hold him on my knee with one arm (as he struggles like Jodie Foster in The Accused) and try to salvage my meal with the other. Good thing I ordered pasta.
* Both my kids will need to be changed just as my fork reaches my lips
It's like they saved up all their piss and shit for that one moment. Like anyone else, sometimes my sons need to "clear some space" before they take in a big meal. But it seems like they always wait until we're in a restaurant with a crowded bathroom with a changing table the size of an iPad.
* I will need to apologize to a stranger
I hate apologizing for things. It's so demeaning. And even more so when it's to someone who probably doesn't deserve one and it wasn't even my fault to begin with. But when you're with kids in public, they're going to annoy some people (read: all the people). And unfortunately, it's my duty as a daddy to apologize for him (I can't wait until they're old enough to start doing this shit work for themselves). Most of the time, people smile and nod politely. Sometimes they don't even acknowledge my existence. So, in a way, it's like talking to my own kids.
* The majority of my time will be spent picking up utensils and crayons
Leaving some crayons and a piece of paper to prevent my kid from pissing off your other patrons is a stellar idea, save for the fact that he'll use them as projectiles at said patrons. And despite his uncanny ability to keep a whole box of crayons on the table when we're at home, for some reason three crayons in public is way too much for Antonio to manage, so my chewing is often disturbed by the antagonizing sound of Crayola hitting the carpet.
There's more sauce on this kid's face than I normally get to digest* My restaurant preference means absolutely nothing
It used to be where I could pick and choose where I wanted to dine. Now? Whichever place is closest and "kid friendly" gets the nod. This is rarely ever Hooters.
There are a slew of other reasons why taking kids out to eat is a dreadful experience (the constant need to wipe their faces, they suddenly decide they don't like what was previously their favorite food), but I don't want to discourage even more people from procreating. Apparently, since the debut of this blog, Trojan stock has risen 34%.
Till next time, be strong and stay sane. And as always, feel free to share with someone who can relate (post to your Facebook, Twitter, MySpace - yes, that last one is a joke).
Thanks for reading!
-Joe DeProspero
jdeprospero@gmail.com
Follow me on Twitter @JoeDeProspero
My Podcast is live Monday, 9/12 at 8 PM ET @ www.livestream.com/courtesyflush!
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