Once upon a time I didn’t think twice about going out to eat. We could go anywhere, anytime, and my biggest concern would be the preparation and serving of my food. And people, let me say for the record that THIS IS HOW GOING TO A RESTAURANT SHOULD BE. Because now that we have these three little personifications of WHAT NOT TO DO WHEN EATING AT A RESTAURANT IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE, it is really too difficult to take them out. But we still do it anyway. This is because we are insane. For evidence I offer up our latest trip to an actual restaurant, to you, my dear reader.

It was about a week ago, and Chris and I were struck with an insatiable desire for cold beer on tap. This happens to us every once in a while and it’s generally this desire that drives us to go eat out, because we all know that cold beer on tap and a good meal have been clinically proven to heal all a persons ills. I know this because I saw it on The News. So we racked our brains to find a place that had all the necessary components (beer, food, and loud music so no one can distinguish the voices of our children screaming bloody murder over the sweet tones of the Bee Gee’s) for our evening out. We decided on a little place called Joe’s Crab Shack. Our kids for some reason LOVE this place. Probably because of all the dirty toys that are hanging from the ceiling. Or it could be because Leo’s grandpa once paid him $100 for eating one little shrimp there (which is a good story and probably deserves its own post), so it holds a kind of magic for them. Also, they always call it Joe’s Crap Shack, not because it’s funny, but because they don’t know any better. We never correct them. This adds a certain level of humor and excitement to our lives.

We were seated at Joe’s for about two minutes when Sunny announced she needed to go to the bathroom. She and I were seated on the inside of the booth, so for us to get up we had to get Leo’s attention and have him get up and out. This wasn’t as easy as it sounds, but was eventually accomplished. Sunny and I went to the bathroom and got back to the table just in time for me to order my beer (mmmm, beer!) and food, and for Badger to yell out that he needed to go to the bathroom. Chris got up and took him because as a general rule we keep boys with boys and girls with girls when it comes to public restroom use. Also it helps to take turns being the potty trip parent, that way we share the possibility of losing our appetites equally.

They came back to the table, and our food was served. Half way through our delicious seafood (or chicken finger) feast, Badger yells: “I NEED TO POOP!” then he pauses for a moment, and says: “No, it was just a FART!” Then a few minutes later Badger yells: “I need to poop, again!” and pauses and says: “No, it was just another fart.” Thankfully, I believe the people sitting around us were spared this loud display of our horrible parenting thanks to Boy George. But when he finally announced for a THIRD time that he needed to poop, I decided to just take him to the bathroom and have it out.

Mission accomplished, we returned to our seats and the meal was thankfully wrapping up. I had enjoyed my beer and yummy seafood, but I was growing tired of my children rolling around on the floor under our table and jumping up and down on the seats of our booth, not to mention the excessive trips to the bathroom. I know this is going to sound like an unbelievable, James Frey-ish exaggeration, but we were just about to pay the check when Leo said he needed to go to the bathroom. Chris and I both told him that he was just gonna have to hold it, because we could not take ONE MORE TRIP TO THE BATHROOM. But Leo insisted that he could NOT hold it, so Chris ran off toward to bathroom holding Leo at an arms length in case a accident occurred. Sunny and Badger followed them, saying they needed to go again too. All I could think was DEAR GOD, WILL YOU GET ME OUT OF THIS RESTAURANT RIGHT NOW!

Chris and Leo went into the men’s room, and Sunny and Badger went into the girls. Chris later told me that when he and Leo got into the stall, Chris pulled down Leo’s pants and, in what I can only picture in a slow motion, horror film type scene, a big chunk of poop (yes, poop) fell out right onto the floor. He somehow used his iron will, and a lot of toilet paper, to clean up the situation. They met Sunny and Badger, who were laughing their asses off, on the way out of the bathroom. They continued to laugh all the way back to the table where Badger informed the waitress, who was just bringing our receipt at that unlucky moment, of what was so damn funny.

“I JUST PEED ALL OVER THE TOILET SEAT!”

We are never going out to eat again.

 

Badger created this diorama completely on his own, after witnessing the joy and wonder that was Sunny’s diorama. I am, of course, very proud. Posted by Picasa

 

“Mom, did you know that I’m so glad you are my mom? And I’m gonna love you forever, even after you are dead, I’m gonna still love you. Even if you died tomorrow in a terrible accident, I would still love you. Did you know that, Mom?”
-my son Leo

 
Sunny’s Africa Diorama
or
What a Second Grader and Her Mother Can Accomplish In Half an Hour

Posted by Picasa

 

I think I’ve mentioned before about Leo’s two brief stints in preschool. The first was more brief than the other, lasting approximately two weeks. The second attempt happened a year later, and he lasted a month and a half. Both ended for similar reasons, mostly screaming and crying and a general unwillingness to participate in any and all activities. The first time we chalked it up to him being too young and decided that we could try it again in a year, when he would be older and surely more mature. So when that second attempt crashed and burned in a huge fiery ball of humiliation, we chalked it up to the fact that Leo was most likely not our child, but instead an evil alien experiment designed to create chaos in society and eventually bring about the distraction of humanity. Not that I really believe that Leo’s failure in preschool was all his fault. I think the school and his teachers bear a lot of the responsibility, as they were completely unprepared and unwilling to work with a child that was a little bit different. I mean, even spawns of Satan need a preschool education, right?

There is one positive thing that came out of Leo’s preschool experiences. Sometime during the second attempt, his teacher taught him the idea of making your own holiday. Leo calls his holiday Chen-Chenny-P-Day, and he describes it as a day where its everyone’s birthday, but no one gets any older. So whenever he designates a day as Chen-Chenny-P-Day, I make a cake, we light candles and sing Happy Birthday to Everyone! It’s actually pretty fun.

So last night when we were on our way home from a friends house, Leo made an announcement:

“I want tomorrow to be Chen-Chenny-P-Day!”

“Okay, Leo, that sounds fun.”

“Then can we have Wednesday be Leif Ericson Day?”

“Leif Ericson Day?”

“Yeah, it’s where we celebrate our Viking heritage.”

 

Once upon a time I had a next door neighbor that was just about my age. Unfortunately that time has past, and all the neighbors on my street that were anywhere close to my age have been replaced with neighbors that have white hair, grandkids, and collect social security. My old neighbor though, she was pretty cool. She had a couple of little kids, a husband that played golf way too much, and a lifetime full of amazing stories. So in other words, she was just like me only replace golf with computers. We were destined to be friends.

One day she called me up and asked if I’d ever heard of the game Bunco, because her group was playing at her house that night and they needed a substitute. I was familiar with the game, having played it once during a visit with my best friend from high school. Unfortunately I didn’t remember anything about how to actually play the game because I had gotten fantastically drunk that night. So fantastically drunk, that toward the end of the game I was no longer playing, just yelling loudly about my personal sexual preferences in between trips to the bathroom to vomit. So of course I jumped at the opportunity to play with my neighbors group.

The group she played with had a slightly different dynamic than my previous experience. It wasn’t so much her group, as it was her Mother-in-Law’s group, made up of a bunch of ladies that she worked with. I think the median age of the group was 57. Still, I thought it was a fun night away from my kids and husband. I got a free dinner, and adult conversation, and for $15 the possibility of winning one of 6 prizes. It was totally worth it.

Substituting one time turned into two times, then three, and eventually a permanent position in the group was offered to me, which I gladly accepted. I had come to enjoy listening to their stories about their grandkids, or the cruise they just took, or getting eyebrows tattooed on their face. And I won prizes from time to time, though they were mostly really ugly nicknacks. For example, I won a candy dish three months in a row. And even though that’s at least two more candy dishes than anyone could possibly need, I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy winning them.

Then out of the blue one day my neighbor called and said she was quitting the group. She had gotten in a huge fight with her mother-in-law, and they weren’t speaking to each other anymore. And, of course it was up to me but she thought I would probably want to quit the group as well. So I quit.

A few months later my neighbor called me…again. She said she had joined a bunco group…again, this time with all young, hip girls like ourselves. And… again she asked if I wanted to sub. I agreed to go, but with mixed emotions. I mean, I didn’t really want to have to break-up with another bunco group the next time my neighbor got in an argument. Plus, I found the idea of young and hip Utah girls a little suspect. And rightly so.

I can’t remember a time where I felt more awkward and outcast than I did at the hip bunco group. (There are however SO many times in my life that I have felt JUST as awkward and outcast that they cannot be counted). While all these girls were about my age I had nothing in common with them, for example: 1) my hair is not blonde, bleached or otherwise, 2) I know nothing about scrapbooking, 3) I have not had a boob job, 4) my idea of a perfect Sunday is laying on my ass at home, NOT in a church worshiping Joseph Smith, and 5) I actually have a personality. And to top it all off these girls were really really not nice and just plain unfriendly. Seriously, I can’t hang with that shit.

So when, surprise surprise, my neighbor asked me to sub for that group again, I said no, and THANK GOD she never asked again. My fabulous life as a bunco player was over. All the camaraderie and friendships finished. Oh well, easy come easy go.

 
The view from my driveway this morning

Posted by Picasa

 

“Mom, I wish I could jump inside the TV.”
-my son Badger

 

“This puzzle is as easy as clipping my grandma’s toenails.”
-my son Leo

 

Last week we embarked on the extremely daunting adventure that is a family vacation that involved airplane rides, hotels, restaurants, and other kid unfriendly activities. And the fun part was that it wasn’t just our little family, but Chris’ entire family which includes: four siblings and their spouses, 10 children under the age of 9, and two happily hands-off grandparents. I assumed, as anyone would, that this combination of events and family would leave me with a goldmine of funny quotes and stories, and there are a few. But what I was really left with was something very different, something I didn’t expect.

When Chris and I were first married we lived near the ocean, and really I couldn’t have cared less. We were working minimum wage jobs with no health insurance, living in what would be politely termed a shack, making barely enough money to cover our monthly expenses and budget that limited us to about one meal a day. I didn’t have the time or energy to enjoy the aesthetics of the ocean or the paradise that I kept hearing people talk about.

That is why I was shocked when I stood on the beach with my children and looked out at the beauty and vastness of the ocean and I was overcome with emotions. I was amazed at how small I felt. I was profoundly aware that the Earth was full of forces that were greater than mankind, because I was face to face with something that man didn’t create and couldn’t destroy. Something that gave life and also took it away. I felt the fingers of belief in God wrapping themselves around my heart. I felt that I was supposed to learn something from this, but hell if I knew what that was.

A few days later as we traveled down a highway, three little boys in the back of the car yelled out that they had to go to the bathroom. Because we desperately wanted to avoid incurring any more cleaning fees on the rental car than necessary, we pulled over to the side of the road for them to pee. Leo’s two cousins and I hopped out first, and I stood there and assured them that I was blocking them from the view of traffic. Leo stood in the doorway, looking at his cousins nervously beginning to take down their pants and yelled, “Come on boys, you’re not getting any younger!” And then I knew that was it, that was what I was supposed to learn.

Life is short, and we should live, love, and be happy because we are, in fact, not getting any younger. The world is big, and our spheres of influence are for the most part very small so we should make that sphere the best place place it can be. We should be understanding and tolerant. We should be at peace. It’s a simple and silly lesson, but it’s what I learned from my vacation, and you can take it or leave it.


© 2011 Dirty Dishes Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha