Eating Out with Kids
I LOVE restaurants.
I love the excitement, the luxury, the menus. I love getting out of the house.
My kids are destroying this for me, and I fear that it will be years before we can go out for an enjoyable dinner as a family.
Yesterday morning, we thought it might be nice to go out for Sunday breakfast with the kids. And we did EVERYTHING right. It was early. We figured we'd get to the restaurant before 9am and avoid any major crowds. We chose a loud and boisterous place that is known to be kid-friendly. None of this mattered. The meal was a disaster.
Dylan was crying before we even sat down. She refused to sit next to her dad, so I ended up with one kid on either side of me. The waitress kept placing items in front of Max, seemingly unaware that he is a BABY. Note to the waitress: babies don't use crayons. Babies eat crayons. Babies can't feed themselves from a small dish of complementary ice cream. Babies rub the ice cream all over themselves. Babies don't know to avoid the hot handle of their mom's skillet eggs. Don't put the freakin' handle in front of them!
As I tried to save Max from every possible disaster thrown his way, Dylan threw fit after fit. She was starving. She was tired. She wanted to go home. She wanted sausage. She wanted grapefruit. The grapefruit is sour. The sausage is too spicy.
By the time we left the restaurant, I was ready to call it a night and it wasn't even 10am. I just can not do this again, and that does not make me happy. Tell me this will get better.