Eating Out: A Family of Four

We know better. We really do. We’ve actually known better for quite some time now. However we still continue to do it. We go out to eat as a family.

In public.

Where people can see us.

I don’t know what it is that makes us keep repeating this mistake. Oh wait—yes I do. I hate cooking.

I didn’t used to hate cooking. But then “kids” happened. And my whole cooking experience changed.

What cooking looks like now: Throw unmeasured ingredients together in a pot as fast as humanly possible while the kids are sitting on the couch watching TV because I know that it will only be a matter of time until the screaming, hitting, and mass chaos will begin.

Barely get a chance to stir “said” food in between breaking up fights; filling up sippy cups’ trying to convince a two-year old that he does not “need” a third popsicle because we’re eating dinner soon; caving spinelessly and giving my two-year old the third popsicle just so that I can get some peace and quiet for a second; cleaning up the spills from the first two popsicles that my little one sucked on while toddling around the house; and mentally preparing myself for the mess that the third popsicle is going to make.

All of this, while also trying to load or unload the dishwasher, start some laundry, clean water bottles from school, and a super long list of additional things.

So, yes. Cooking is no longer enjoyable. It’s barely survivable. And half the time my stuff isn’t even good. That really ticks me off.

The one absolute way I know the prepared meal wasn’t any good is when my husband asks, “So…did you like that?”

If you don’t know, that’s husband for “That meal tasted like a giant ball of crap.”

He doesn’t understand why this question makes me want to throw the dishes at his head, one-by-one, and never cook again.

All that work and it wasn’t even good. What a rip-off.

So, we end up eating out a decent amount of the time. Even though sitting in a restaurant with two little kids is about as much fun as inserting a bobby pin into your eyeball repeatedly.

Which I probably would have done on several occasions had I been able to find any bobby pins. But now that I have kids, I can’t be trusted with the things.

Plus, doing anything to my hair that includes bobby pins, takes way too much time and would never happen at this point in my life.

I have exactly two hairstyles: Hair all the way down or ponytail.

That’s it.

Back to eating out. I think part of the reason we keep making the mistake is also because every once in a while our kids will do surprisingly well. Which I guess gives us false confidence that they are finally old enough to behave like normal human beings in a restaurant.

Instead of uncivilized cave people.

But, it’s like they only have about one good “eating out” experience in them a month. And by the next time, they’re back to their old ways.

Ways which include, eating on the floor under the table like a mangy dog. I wouldn’t even be that opposed to this, because at least they’re quiet under there and nobody can see them.

But, the problem is there is usually other food under the table. Food from earlier guests.

And if they’re not under the table then they are inevitably standing on top of their chairs or bouncing on the seat of the booth we’re in.

It’s like they forget what a chair is even for when we’re in a public eatery. They become wild animals, eating food with their fingers. And I’m not talking “finger foods” like French fries or chips.

No, they’re shoving their fingers in the mac-n-cheese like they’ve never laid eyes on a fork in their lives.

It’s embarrassing. Seriously, it probably looks like we give our children slop in a bucket for dinner on the back porch and just let them go at it like beasts.

The other day we were eating burgers, when two policeman that my husband knows sat down near us. They were chatting with my husband and one of them mentioned that his wife had quit working and was staying home with their small child.

As if my husband had read my mind he said, “I don’t think I could pay my wife to stay home with our kids.”

I was half-embarrassed, realizing that I probably sounded like an awful mom at this point. A mom who doesn’t like to spend time with her children.

I quickly stepped in and said, “Oh, they would wear me out if I was with them all day. They’re pretty wild.”

Just as I was finishing my sentence, a half-eaten corn dog flew by my face, just inches from hitting my nose, and landed near the table of the police officers.

I guess my youngest child was reading my mind as well.

Thanks son for stepping in and validating what I said about you guys being pretty wild. I can always count on you to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Even if it means throwing wieners.

At least now the nice police officer probably understands why I choose to be a working mom.

As much as I love my boys, I think having a little time away from them isn't a bad thing.