Lunch out? I say NAY NAY!
2004-06-25 at 3:41 p.m.
Now I remember why I don't take my children out to eat.
Seeing as how today is wonderful, glorious, sweet payday, K and I decided to meet for lunch. Depsite having been banned from every restaurant from here to the St. Louis county line, I was looking forward to eating with an adult. Well. In this case, K. And my other children.
I had forgotten how much of a hassle it is to get three children ready to go out. I've become accustomed to sitting at the computer in my jammies until 2:00pm, showering at 3:00pm, giving the house a quick spruce-up before K walks in the door and basically enjoying not having to run here nor there all damn day.
My kids all turned into useless blobs of dependancy when it came time to get ready. No one remembered how to button buttons, snap snaps or flush toilets. By the time we got in the car, I was ready for a nap.
My first stop was the gas station, where I spent a tenth of K's paycheck to fill my tank. K was kind enough to run my car completely out of gas when he used it the other night. Oh well. That little orange "get gas now or be stranded" light was quite decorative atop my dashboard. Had I been fortunate enough to have the money to fill up two days ago, I could have spent a ridiculous $1.63 per gallon, instead of the insane $1.76 I did today.
$36.50 later, we were on our merry way. Not knowing how long it would take to get to the restaurant where we met K, I ended up arriving half an hour early. The kids were getting restless. G asked if he could play with my CDs while we waited for K to arrive. Naturally, I said no. After several ear-piercing screams of protest, I succombed and gave him the Goddamned CDs.
Yeah yeah... I know I'm a pushover and a lousy parent. I can only take so much screaming though and I was hoping to set his mood for the upcoming dining experience. You'll be pleased to know that after G broke my Clay Aiken CD into thirds, that I did in fact remove the remaining CDs from his grasp and was firm about not giving them back. Aren't you proud of me holding my ground like that? (P.S. I could use a new Clay Aiken ~ Measure of a Man CD. My address is... just kidding)
I walked the kids around the strip mall for awhile until K arrived. We went in to the deli and chose a table away from the general public. I gave G crayons and paper and a cup of milk to keep him amused while K ordered our food.
During the course of the meal...
G:
~ threw crayons
~ screamed
~ shrieked
~ stuck his hand in the con queso dip
~ tipped my tea
and
~ ate half my lunch
J:
~ belched
~ ran around the table
~ hid under the table
~ told E, "Look! I have my penis out!"
~ said, "Oh CRAP!" when the topping slid off his pizza
and
~ said, "I FEEL FAT" as a 400 pound woman walked by
E:
~ copped an attitude that remained all through the meal
~ rolled his eyes at me
~ told me to shut up
~ wouldn't stay in his chair
~ said, "can't she see we don't have our fucking food yet" when the waitress asked for the fifth time how everything was
and
~ belched (though not nearly as well as J... ortheirmother)
As always, the table looked like a war zone after we left. G fell asleep on the drive home, so he'll be half the fucking night.
For some reason, E asked if we could drive past my old house in St. Charles. It's the house my parents built in 1972, where I lived for ten years, until the age of fifteen. I hadn't been by in awhile, so I obliged.
What it is about houses of mine? Why do rednecks end up living in them and turning them into white trash yard art displays? There was so much shit in the lawn, you could barely see the house, which by the way, was painted pumpkin pie orange. WTF? As soon as I or my family vacates a place, does someone come along and say, "Thisse here'd be a great place for ahr gnome colleck-shun!"
I don't get it.
I guess I should get off this damn computer and figure out what to fix for dinner. I doubt I could talk K into two meals out in a row. Besides, the list of places from which my children have been banned increased by one today.
Good day.