Last Saturday presented an overwhelming series of activities for my family, commencing at 8:30 AM and extending well into the evening. It raises the question: why do weekends seem to have increased demands on our time? By 7:00 PM, the entire family had finally gathered, but we were all fatigued and famished, lacking the energy to prepare a meal. In a commendable gesture, my partner, whom we’ll call Captain, suggested we dine out.
While this was a generous offer, we should have adhered to Parenting Rule #312: when children are both exhausted and hungry, a restaurant is the least ideal environment for them.
Upon arriving at this decision, we realized a wardrobe change was necessary, as we were all less than presentable. The older children donned somewhat nicer, stain-free clothing; however, I was taken aback by how fatigued my youngest, whom I’ll refer to as Mini, appeared. She descended the stairs dressed in a mismatched, tattered sundress, sparkly high-heeled shoes, and a lavish faux fur jacket, all while clutching a bright purple purse filled with dolls. She met my gaze with a raised eyebrow that seemed to challenge me.
I opted for a non-confrontational approach and instructed everyone to get in the car, too exhausted to engage in a debate. The sight was reminiscent of a four-year-old version of Miss Havisham, which was unexpectedly amusing.
Upon our arrival at the restaurant, it became unmistakable—Mini was in a state akin to intoxication. She approached the hostess and nonchalantly grabbed a toothpick, yawning as if the whole scene failed to captivate her. When it was time to be seated, she click-clacked in her heels, whimsically picking her teeth and clutching her purse, nodding graciously to the onlookers.
Captain and I exchanged glances, sensing the impending chaos. Although we contemplated returning home, the absence of food options pushed us to proceed.
When the waiter inquired about her drink preference, she exclaimed, “CHOCOLATE MILK!” as if it were an obvious choice (she subsequently consumed four glasses in rapid succession). While we expressed our apologies for her behavior, she launched into a spontaneous song, starting with an original composition, which, while delightful, likely did not resonate with everyone present. She then transitioned to a number from Les Misérables.
“Sweetie, we don’t sing at the table,” I gently reminded her.
“DO YOU HEAR DA PEOPLE SING?!” she responded defiantly.
“Please stop. This is not appropriate,” I reiterated.
“SINGING DA SONGS OF ANGRY MEN!” she declared, to which her older brother, Jake, chimed in, “I love that song.” Mini, grinning and somewhat slurring, replied, “Then I am tired of singing it.”
At one point, she laid her head on the table, only to pop up moments later, adjusting her faux fur collar and flashing a radiant smile. Captain remarked, “Dear Lord. It’s like dining with Judy Garland in the 1960s.” I could only nod in agreement, wide-eyed.
“I need another drink. Waiter!” she called out.
The waiter appeared, seemingly enchanted by her demand. Captain began to place an order when Mini interrupted with “CORN DOG.” We all paused, staring at her as she made a series of wild expressions.
“CORN DOG,” she shouted while pointing at me.
“Did she just say horn dog?” I whispered to Captain, who was equally bewildered.
“CORN DOG,” she repeated, now pointing at her siblings, all while maintaining her eccentric facial expressions. The waiter, confused yet amused, confirmed, “So, corn dogs?”
“Yes!” Mini responded, her eyes wide with excitement. “I HAVE THE HICCUPS NOW.”
The dinner continued to spiral into absurdity. Usually, we engage in a family tradition where we share the highlights and lowlights of our day, affectionately termed “Good, Bad, Silly & Grateful.” However, Mini had other ideas. “IT’S TIME FOR GOOD, BAD, SILLY & GRAVY. NOW. YOU GO, FIRST. START WITH GRAVY.”
The bewildered glances from neighboring tables were almost as entertaining as her performance. Meanwhile, her exhausted siblings were in stitches, which only exacerbated the situation.
Finally, our food arrived, and in our hunger, we dug in. Moments later, I heard a peculiar noise resembling “mmmmmmMMMMmmmmm.” I glanced at Mini, who had succumbed to sleep, her head thrown back and arms sprawled, her faux fur jacket cocooning her. It was 8:36 PM.
We hastily finished our meal and returned home, where we tucked our sweet, eccentric child into bed. She kicked off her high heels and murmured her love for us before rolling over with a contented snarl.
In conclusion, taking a very tired child to dinner can result in a series of unpredictable and humorous incidents, illustrating the importance of timing and understanding a child’s limits. For more insights into family planning and home insemination techniques, consider visiting Make A Mom’s guide and exploring their resources, including their 21-piece kit for at-home insemination. Additionally, for those considering fertility treatments, March of Dimes offers valuable information and support.
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