Anyway, just because I'm in the middle of our New Story doesn't mean the material for posts stops coming.
Our previous plans for tonight changed so we were left without a meal planned. I wasn't feeling inspired and I was craving a hamburger so we decided to cash in one of our Blanc Groupons and have a family dinner out.
- Daddy drops us off at the curb to put our name in while he parks. Lila has a fit that Daddy drove off without us despite much soothing and explaining that he was coming back.
- 15 minute wait. No big deal, right? Lila throws another fit because she wants to go outside.
- We go outside, but are confined to the patio where the pager's range ends. Lila throws a fit because she wants to walk across the street to the fountain.
- They page us (thank goodness) and we go in to get seated. Lila throws a fit because she didn't actually want to go inside. Surprise, surprise.
- We shove her flailing limbs into the highchair and strap her down despite the arch in her back. Fit continues despite all my distraction tactics. I pull everything but a rabbit out of my
- We get a brief reprieve when the toddler plate arrives, but Lila soon tires of the apples and wants nothing to do with the raisins and cheese. People are beginning to stare/roll their eyes/look at us sympathetically as the impressive tantrum escalates.
- I say, "How do you feel about walking around with her until our meal comes?" and the Husband-of-the-Year obliges. I sink down into my Dr. Pepper with exhausted relief and text my sister "oh heaven help us."
- I retreat into the white noise drone of restaurant conversation, but am yanked back to reality by the occasional shrill voice yelling, "Mommmmmyyyyy" from the other side of the restaurant. I look around in a feigned, "Hmm...whose child is that? I hope she finds her mommy" concern.
- She found her mommy. And her mommy found a poopy diaper. But, da-da-na-daaaaa! (that's superhero music) Husband-of-the-Year comes to the rescue again and takes Miss Stinker (that name fits in more ways than one) to the car for a new diaper...because I forgot to bring a bag for the dirty cloth diaper.
- In the meantime, our food arrives and I snarf down half my burger before the Husband-of-the-Year and Baby Stinker Punk return. Guiltily, I offer him the cart of sweet potato fries that I had wheeled over to my side of the table. Lila starts in with her not-so-silent sign language for "I want to eat that immediately I mean now you better hurry up or I'm going to get louder and more and more people are going to stare at your sub-standard parenting skills" and gestures wildly toward the fries.
- We earn our second moment of peace when we unashamedly offer her fry after fry to keep her quiet. Sometimes, you just gotta indulge the kid so you can survive. Can I get an "Amen?"
- The rest of the meal proceeds pretty much as can be expected. More yelling, more attempts to appease, more flailing of tiny limbs, more sighs and head shakes from nearby table occupants. Need I go on?
- Eventually the waitress says, "Can I get you anything else?" with a very distinct undertone of "Please leave. Your child is an urchin." We get our check and make a run for it.
- Lila doesn't want me to sit in the front seat. She also doesn't want me to sit in the back seat. She doesn't want Daddy to drive. After a ridiculous game of musical seats, I realize, "Hey, I'm the mom here. I paid for this car (actually, that's complete and total lie. We paid nothing for our car. It was a total gift from Jesus and my parents and a generous friend) so I'm going to sit where I want!" Lila throws a fit. (surprise!)
- We stop by Aunt Jess and Uncle Kyle's to pick something up (because we're just that stupid and haven't yet figured out that the girl just needs to GO TO BED!) and Lila puts on her, "I'm always sweet and bubbly and cute and fantastic" act for her adoring aunt.
- Jess tells us a story that ends with the newly coined idiom, "Let's just call a cow a cow." (She meant, "Let's call a spade a spade.") Which sends me into an intense silent, near-crying laughter which Lila interprets as actual crying which prompts her to wail, "Mommmmyyy!" and start crying herself. Just picture something like this pathetic-ness:
- We finally come to grips with the reality in which we are living and take the wailing, tear-streaked, sweaty, exhausted Baby Girl home.