Dinner Out... with The Kids
It's an evening to have dinner "out" after I get off work, and this is a good thing. The dining establishment in question, here, is not of 4-star quality; however, it is a buffet-style eatery, and the kids always find something they enjoy (translation: something they'll eat without coercion or gagging).
I drive over after work, Paul and the kids are already there. Walking up the sidewalk, I see Paul, a child holding each of his hands, and his face splits in a huge genuine grin, lighting up with pleasure as he catches sight of me. God I love this man.
The kids notice my arrival, and they pull away from their Dad and run screaming happily toward me for hugs. This is a good thing, and I wonder whether Kodak has noticed how wonderful this is. Damn. Where's a cameraman and film-crew when you need 'em?
As we walk to the front door of the restaurant, Eddy declares, "I'll get the door!" "Why, thank you, Eddy," Paul says to him, "that's very considerate of you!" "Yes, Eddy, thank you very much," I add, smiling. Eddy opens the door, allows his sister through it, then races for the next door, leaving the first one to close in my face. Hmmmmmm. We might need to work on the finer points of door-holding. Ah well, no matter. Baby steps. This is all good.
Some predictable but perfectly acceptable choices are made by Sherry and Eddy, and after ensuring they're all settled in at the table, Paul and I return to the buffet to prepare our own plates. As we navigate back to our table, I notice that Eddy and Sherry are both nearly face-down in their plates, elbows planted squarely on the table, eating like cattle at a trough.
Deep breaths... this is NO big deal. Paul sits down beside Eddy, and I take the place beside Sherry. "Guys," I whisper, "Elbows!" Both children promptly remove their elbows from the table. "Thanks, Sweeties." I beam at them, knowing these things take time... and pleased that it takes so little to remind them of their good manners. They really ARE wonderful kids, and I need to learn to lighten up.
Paul reminds each of them, gently, to sit up straight at the table, and their sweet little faces are now visible, no longer buried in their dinner plates. At the same time, those dinner-plates are alarmingly empty-looking, and Paul and I have barely begun our own meals. Predictably, we are only a few bites into it when Eddy announces he's ready to return for seconds. Sherry chimes in happily, "Me too!"
Gosh it's good to see them so enthusiastic about their food. My dinner is good, too... I think. The couple of bites I've had so far have been very nice. "I'd rather not get up, just yet, Sherry. Can you please wait for me to finish what's on my plate before we return to the line?" Sherry seems disappointed, but she's a good sport, "Sure, okay." she says. Paul looks at Eddy. "I'm not ready to get up yet, either, buddy. Can you give us a few minutes to enjoy our food before we have to get up?"
Eddy's face mirrors his disappointment, though he's clearly trying to be a good sport, too. An idea dawns on him and he begins sliding down the booth, "EDDY! What are you DOING?" He climbs back up onto the seat. "I was going to go UNDER the table so you didn't have to get up." Oh sweet Lord. I don't know whether to award him points for creativity, or grouse at him for trying to go under the table. While I'm debating the finer points of both options, Paul steps in. "That's a kind thought, Eddy, but we do NOT go UNDER the table, okay, buddy?" Eddy nods, and the kids return to a harmless non-stop fidget festival while Paul and I finish our food.
The roving table-bussing-staff swing by to take away our empty plates, and the kids are now more than ready to return for their seconds. Paul turns to Eddy, "What do you think you'll have this time?" Eddy answers loudly, "Waffle, Dad! I want a WAFFLE!" I'm biting my lip, deciding whether to comment, and realize that I simply don't have the self-restraint to hold back. I snap, "A waffle, PLEASE, DAD." Eddy looks at me like my spaceship just left. "Huh?" "I'm sure you meant to say, 'I'd like a waffle, PLEASE, Dad.'" "Oh. Yah. Please Dad." And off they go toward the serving lines.
"Sherry, honey, what would you like this time?" Careful not to repeat her brother's error, Sherry replies politely, "I'd like some more mashed-potatoes, gravy, and ham, please." Most excellent! I thank her for remembering her manners and we venture off in search of the requested items.
Paul and Eddy, Sherry and I all return to the table about the same time. Again, we get the kids settled at the table. Eddy and Sherry begin eating and notice, uncomfortably, that I am still standing at the edge of the table, looking at them expectantly. They return my gaze, calmly and serenely, as though a Zen state has taken hold. Finally, Sherry asks, "Yes, Brenda?" I answer her, "You're welcome." Now she's confused. "I am?" "Yes, Sherry. You're WELCOME for my help in getting your second serving." "Oh! Thank you, Brenda!" "You're welcome," I repeat, yet again. These simple lessons in manners are supposed to take hold eventually, right? RIGHT?
The meal winds down without further incident, and I'm sitting in a blissful post-meal glow when an unusual movement across the table catches my eye. Oh geez. "EDDY!" Eddy peeks out from behind the plate he's just been LICKING CLEAN. "Yes?" "Put the plate down! We do NOT LICK OUR PLATES. Is that understood?!" "Yes ma'am."
Leaving the restaurant, Eddy decides again that he'll hold the door; this time, he does it beautifully and with care. I hug him and thank him for being such a gentleman. As Paul and the kids are walking me to my car, Eddy takes my hand and says, "Can I ride home with you, Brenda?" "Oh, Eddy, that's very sweet. But I really think I need the few minutes' ride home alone, okay?" Still holding my hand, he says, "PLEASE?! I want to ride with you!"
Looking into his face, so open, so loving... what else is a wicked stepmother to say? "Okay, Eddy, you can ride with me. But no off-key singing, alright?" I wink at him, and we walk off hand in hand. Silently, I promise myself to try harder to be as wonderful as he seems to believe I am.
I drive over after work, Paul and the kids are already there. Walking up the sidewalk, I see Paul, a child holding each of his hands, and his face splits in a huge genuine grin, lighting up with pleasure as he catches sight of me. God I love this man.
The kids notice my arrival, and they pull away from their Dad and run screaming happily toward me for hugs. This is a good thing, and I wonder whether Kodak has noticed how wonderful this is. Damn. Where's a cameraman and film-crew when you need 'em?
As we walk to the front door of the restaurant, Eddy declares, "I'll get the door!" "Why, thank you, Eddy," Paul says to him, "that's very considerate of you!" "Yes, Eddy, thank you very much," I add, smiling. Eddy opens the door, allows his sister through it, then races for the next door, leaving the first one to close in my face. Hmmmmmm. We might need to work on the finer points of door-holding. Ah well, no matter. Baby steps. This is all good.
Some predictable but perfectly acceptable choices are made by Sherry and Eddy, and after ensuring they're all settled in at the table, Paul and I return to the buffet to prepare our own plates. As we navigate back to our table, I notice that Eddy and Sherry are both nearly face-down in their plates, elbows planted squarely on the table, eating like cattle at a trough.
Deep breaths... this is NO big deal. Paul sits down beside Eddy, and I take the place beside Sherry. "Guys," I whisper, "Elbows!" Both children promptly remove their elbows from the table. "Thanks, Sweeties." I beam at them, knowing these things take time... and pleased that it takes so little to remind them of their good manners. They really ARE wonderful kids, and I need to learn to lighten up.
Paul reminds each of them, gently, to sit up straight at the table, and their sweet little faces are now visible, no longer buried in their dinner plates. At the same time, those dinner-plates are alarmingly empty-looking, and Paul and I have barely begun our own meals. Predictably, we are only a few bites into it when Eddy announces he's ready to return for seconds. Sherry chimes in happily, "Me too!"
Gosh it's good to see them so enthusiastic about their food. My dinner is good, too... I think. The couple of bites I've had so far have been very nice. "I'd rather not get up, just yet, Sherry. Can you please wait for me to finish what's on my plate before we return to the line?" Sherry seems disappointed, but she's a good sport, "Sure, okay." she says. Paul looks at Eddy. "I'm not ready to get up yet, either, buddy. Can you give us a few minutes to enjoy our food before we have to get up?"
Eddy's face mirrors his disappointment, though he's clearly trying to be a good sport, too. An idea dawns on him and he begins sliding down the booth, "EDDY! What are you DOING?" He climbs back up onto the seat. "I was going to go UNDER the table so you didn't have to get up." Oh sweet Lord. I don't know whether to award him points for creativity, or grouse at him for trying to go under the table. While I'm debating the finer points of both options, Paul steps in. "That's a kind thought, Eddy, but we do NOT go UNDER the table, okay, buddy?" Eddy nods, and the kids return to a harmless non-stop fidget festival while Paul and I finish our food.
The roving table-bussing-staff swing by to take away our empty plates, and the kids are now more than ready to return for their seconds. Paul turns to Eddy, "What do you think you'll have this time?" Eddy answers loudly, "Waffle, Dad! I want a WAFFLE!" I'm biting my lip, deciding whether to comment, and realize that I simply don't have the self-restraint to hold back. I snap, "A waffle, PLEASE, DAD." Eddy looks at me like my spaceship just left. "Huh?" "I'm sure you meant to say, 'I'd like a waffle, PLEASE, Dad.'" "Oh. Yah. Please Dad." And off they go toward the serving lines.
"Sherry, honey, what would you like this time?" Careful not to repeat her brother's error, Sherry replies politely, "I'd like some more mashed-potatoes, gravy, and ham, please." Most excellent! I thank her for remembering her manners and we venture off in search of the requested items.
Paul and Eddy, Sherry and I all return to the table about the same time. Again, we get the kids settled at the table. Eddy and Sherry begin eating and notice, uncomfortably, that I am still standing at the edge of the table, looking at them expectantly. They return my gaze, calmly and serenely, as though a Zen state has taken hold. Finally, Sherry asks, "Yes, Brenda?" I answer her, "You're welcome." Now she's confused. "I am?" "Yes, Sherry. You're WELCOME for my help in getting your second serving." "Oh! Thank you, Brenda!" "You're welcome," I repeat, yet again. These simple lessons in manners are supposed to take hold eventually, right? RIGHT?
The meal winds down without further incident, and I'm sitting in a blissful post-meal glow when an unusual movement across the table catches my eye. Oh geez. "EDDY!" Eddy peeks out from behind the plate he's just been LICKING CLEAN. "Yes?" "Put the plate down! We do NOT LICK OUR PLATES. Is that understood?!" "Yes ma'am."
Leaving the restaurant, Eddy decides again that he'll hold the door; this time, he does it beautifully and with care. I hug him and thank him for being such a gentleman. As Paul and the kids are walking me to my car, Eddy takes my hand and says, "Can I ride home with you, Brenda?" "Oh, Eddy, that's very sweet. But I really think I need the few minutes' ride home alone, okay?" Still holding my hand, he says, "PLEASE?! I want to ride with you!"
Looking into his face, so open, so loving... what else is a wicked stepmother to say? "Okay, Eddy, you can ride with me. But no off-key singing, alright?" I wink at him, and we walk off hand in hand. Silently, I promise myself to try harder to be as wonderful as he seems to believe I am.
posted by Aunty Social at 2:51 PM
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