Vintage Post: Epic
The resident chef and I are on a diet. It shall remain nameless but basically the terms of the diet are you don’t eat. Effective. Hard to eat out. However, we went to dinner last night with my husband’s family to celebrate a birthday.
We went to a local restaurant that specializes in seafood. Loud, crowded, great view of the river. At any rate we previewed the menu and agreed to split some shrimp, split some broccoli, split a side salad and split a small steak so we had an approved diet plan. We got there at six.
The manager on duty warned us that they had several people call in so he was busing tables as they were understaffed. Way understaffed. Our food took a full hour to arrive. I was fairly proud of my kids and nephews and nieces as they all held it together. All the adults were actively playing tic tac toe and hang man and those little connect the square boxes. My daughter informed us that the “real” rules to hangman require that not only does the little man get head, body, arms and legs before she was out but he also had to get 12 spikes of hair and freckles. We went with it. Anything to keep the kids in line while the monster wait for food happened.
When everyone’s food arrived mine did not. The waiter came by and sheepishly said the kitchen had over cooked my steak so were doing a new one and would bring it “in two minutes”. Twenty minutes later and everyone else is done (except my spouse who waited for me….we were splitting remember?). Tada! My food arrived. We sighed happily and split our food. We each ate a bite of broccoli. We each ate a bite of shrimp. My youngest leaned over for and asked mommy for a hug. I thought how nice is this. Dinner out, kids behaving, nice view, hug from a cuddly two year old.
The sound of throwing up in public is louder than the 12’s on game day in Seattle. The people at the table next to us gasped and moved away. The entire restaurant went silent and looked our way.
This was nice because then they could hear her PUKE A SECOND TIME…
..AND A THIRD.
No one moved.
I was covered. My daughter was covered. Puke in our hair, down our shirts, pants and shoes. Puke on the table. On my steak. Puke in the high chair and all over the floor.
At this point I started laughing.
The stressed manager was quite loudly telling various people to go clean it up. No one moved.
My sweet spouse grabbed the youngest child (covering himself in puke) and headed for the door. I told our waiter we were leaving and our family would cover our bill.
I changed the poor baby on the outside bench. Last time we got vomit in a car seat we threw the car seat out so I didn’t want to repeat that. My eldest wanted to know if she could get her after dinner prize that was promised her on the menu.
I gave her the mom look.
“Honey. Look at your mom. I have puke from head to toe. I am not marching back into this restaurant to ask for their after dinner prize. Get in the car”. We got in the car and drove home with the windows down. I gave the eight year old a diaper and told her to catch any more puke in the diaper. To her credit she didn’t respond and quietly took the diaper.
She gave her sister the big sister look.
When we got home I threw out the kid’s shoes. So not worth it. My suede boots and leather jacket I may try to save. I may not. My husband is my hero. He drove by for take out and did the laundry.
I don’t think we will be going back there.
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I love Jesus. I think my two daughters can change the world. I think you can too.
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