I am an over protective mother. I have been an over protective mother for the boys’ entire lives because I am a neurotic mess. They cannot leave my sight unless they are in possession of someone I trust implicitly. I don’t think I’ll be changing any time soon.
Tonight, I had the boys by myself for dinner and I took them out to eat, which is very rare for us. It’s not rare for us to go out to eat. It’s not exactly rare for me to have the boys by myself for dinner because Ed and I both value our time away. What was rare was that I took the boys out to eat for dinner to a restaurant that is out of my comfort zone by myself. There’s only one restaurant I’m comfortable taking them to by myself and it’s not open during the evening. Dang it.
We went to Chipotle’s because I have some sick, twisted desire to make my neuroses come out. The difficulty started with ordering. There was the whole standing in line thing to order. Why can’t they just stand next to me without me having to tell them? Why do they have to follow their food all the way down the counter? At least I could see them.
We took the precariously balanced food over to the drink station to get our drinks. Trip had decided on an apple juice and Logan a fountain drink. As Logan and I filled up our cups, Trip changed his mind about his drink. Crap. I should have known he’d do that. Demon child. I think he gets his demonic nature from Ed. Logan and I finished filling our drinks and getting straws, napkins, and forks and then we all went over to a table. I deposited the boys at a table in the middle of the restaurant and went to exchange Trip’s juice box for a cup and then filled his cup at the fountain. I did all of this while keeping a constant eye on both boys, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest. They were being good though and sat in their chairs.
With both boys happy-ish with their food and drinks, we started eating. And then it happened. Trip announced that he needed a spoon and he only had a fork. Said he couldn’t possibly eat his beans without a spoon. I hemmed and I hawed. I vacillated over what to do. Do I let him go get it? Do I go get it for him? Do I tell him to eat his beans with the fork I got for him? And then Logan announced that he also required a spoon for his beans. I looked at the doors near the condiment counter. No one was coming near them or approaching them to leave. I told the boys to go get their desperately needed spoons. The tops of their heads bopped just over the counter barely revealing their whereabouts. Paranoid, I watched with bated breath for people approaching my babies. Yes, I realize they are six years old. They danced around for a bit before finally making it back to their seats.
We ate on for a few more minutes. Then Trip knocked his drink off of the table. A man who had been passing picked it up and placed it back on the table. Trip moved to take a drink from the straw that had just been on the floor. I yanked the drink out of his hand, left them at the table, and got a new straw. I realized this would not be a meal where I could simply relax and enjoy the food.
Trip then realized that the men seated at the table next to us were speaking Spanish. This is not rare in Texas, not even as far north as we are, but Trip thought that his was the most hilarious thing he had ever seen, so he proceeded to stare at these men like he was still a two-year old who had free reign to stare at people he’d never met. I hissed at him to quit staring and he grinned at me like I was an idiot and continued to stare.
Logan then decided that he needed another spoon because I had used his spoon for two seconds. Never mind that he regularly drinks from my cups and leaves all manner of floaters in my drinks. He simply could not eat from that spoon. I told him to go get another spoon, watching him the entire time. He was dancing and gyrating as he slowly made his way back. The boy thinks he has rhythm. He doesn’t, but he thinks he does.
Trip spent that entire time staring at the Spanish-speaking men and they were either oblivious to him or very good at ignoring him.
Once we finished eating, the boys decided they had free reign to get up and dance around before finally throwing their trash away. Demons. I think they want to see me hyperventilate. That, or they have no idea what they do to me. I refuse to think they do these things to me on purpose.
We made it out of the restaurant and back to the car. I managed to avoid having a nervous breakdown.