For some people going out to eat is a real treat. It’s a break from the norm and a chance to be waited on – a taste of the good life. Brother, eating out with a kid is a totally different experience. It should almost be called “defensive dining”, because that’s what I feel like. The moment we walk through the restaurant door, I am a vigilant goalie trying to keep things from Benjamin and keeping him from things.
After 2 years Emily and I have our strategy down and we perform like synchronized swimmers. Most of our maneuvers have even become involuntary so we continue our conversation without missing a beat.
First, you have to clear the radius. That means removing every element on the table that Benjamin can possibly reach. You can tell whether or not a server has kids by where they position items they bring to the table. “Yeah let me go ahead and move that steak knife and bowl of red sauce you plopped down right in front of my 2-year old.”
Second, get them interested in coloring on the placemat or menu as quickly as possible. And go ahead and order the kid’s entrée with your drinks so it comes out early. It’s weird, kids want everything immediately and they don’t understand your rational explanation why food just doesn’t appear in front of their mouth. Weird.
Third, depending on the place, do yourself a favor and ask for extra napkins. The time it takes for a drink to spill is equal to the speed that light travels.
So the fact that I can quickly type out rules for eating out with a child already diminishes the fun-factor of eating out a little bit. And then there are I Fratelli nights.
Picture it, it is Emily’s dad’s (Bob) birthday so the entire family was able to get together to break bread at I Fratelli’s, which excites me. I have one dietary Achilles’ heel and it is the flat crust pizza from I Fratelli’s. Cookie Monster has cookies. Scooby has Scooby-snacks and I have I Fratelli’s pizza.
I had to finish up some work stuff so I show up a little late just as everyone is enjoying some salads and the company. I’m all smiles as I go down the table shaking hands, patting heads and wishing Bob a happy birthday. Then I catch a glimpse of Emily’s face – it is the fake politician/pageant model smile. This is the look that couple’s have that signifies that something is wrong, but you don’t want to make a scene. I’ve used my look so many time that I think they are planning on inducting it into a facial hall of fame.
Like a scene from Casino or Goodfellas, the ones where mobsters are trying to conceal their conversations from the Feds, Emily and I have a complete conversation without moving our lips or letting the smiles fade from our faces. The situation being discussed is that Benjamin has had a diaper blowout that spilled over unto his shirt, shorts and the restaurant’s high chair (even more reason you should wipe down a high chair when you use one, gross).
We take him into the bathroom to better assess the collateral damage and it was not good. This was compounded by the fact that we hadn't restocked the diaper bag since our TN trip – no wipes, no diapers, no back up clothes, no hope.
So after being in the restaurant for 3 minutes, I’m spinning my heels and running to Babies R’ Us to buy a new ensemble and enough cleaning supplies to sanitize a murder scene.
BRU being a big box store, their best deals come in big boxes. So I grab a 364 pack of wipes and 128 diapers – ching! & cha-ching! Now clothes. I didn’t want to spend the money on a completely dorky outfit that we would never put Benjamin in when he isn’t covered in his own mud.
So I’m trolling the racks and discover that Goodwill stores are organized better than BRU. There was a 4-year old’s pants, next to a onesie, next to a girl’s Easter dress, next to some leftover Hypercolor® shirts (this may be fiction).
$60 later I return to the restaurant to find a smiling, half-naked Benjamin sitting in the booth wrapped up in Aunt Amy’s pashmina. We put him in the outfit, everyone is nearly done eating, Benjamin then gets red sauce (thanks waiter) and ice cream on his outfit – but it was okay. Because I have learned that is life. This is my life right now. And it all makes for a better story than if we simply had dinner and went home. If that were the case, you would have been done reading 6 paragraphs ago.
My final dining with kids tip is the tip. Be generous to your server, because more times than not you are leaving them with a table that looks like the Gettysburg of food fights. And sometimes you unfortunately leave them with a little extra something in the ol' high chair. We informed management of the situation and they cordially dealt with the predicament. I Fratelli... mi dispiace.
