Is a Hot Meal Too Much to Ask For?

8 Jul

“I’m sorry Mrs. ______.  She struck another little girl when they were fighting over a toy.  She is banned from Kids camp for 24 hours and if she hits again, she can not come back for the remainder of the cruise.”  The director of the child watch center on our cruise line explained to me very kindly, but firmly.

I looked down at the little one.  Her mop of strawberry blonde curls hung over down cast eyes.  Banned from kids camp, we walked back to our cabin, me scolding her as we did so.  A 2 year old version of the walk of shame. I’m super pissed because tonight is “Elegant Night” in the dining room and they are serving filet mignon with lobster tails, and we had HOPED to let them stay in camp for dinner so we could have a nice romantic meal sans our ponytail posse.  Not going happen.

“Mommy, dat not da truff”!!” (Translation: ‘Mommy, that’s not the truth’) she cries out defiantly.

“Yes, it is the truth. Don’t  lie about it.  I know the girl took your toy, I know you were angry, but we do not hit, Delilah.”

The little one is scrappy.  I know my daughter, and I know she is guilty as charged.  I’ve never seen her hit anyone unprovoked, but if you take her toy  I can promise there is going to be one Mother F–er of a throw down.  That doesn’t make me any less annoyed that our amorous dinner has now turned into a party of four.  Hubs is even more pissed, he had hoped to keep them in camp a little longer so he could get lucky in the cabin after dinner.

Fast forward two hours and all four of us are dressed in our Sunday best (it is ‘Elegant Night’, after all) and are seated at a booth style table in the center of the large dining room.  I look around and notice that all the really nice tables, the ones with a view of the sunset over the water’s horizon, are occupied by couples with out kids in tow.  We decide to each take a child, so we are sitting across from one another, which will (hopefully) prevent fights and attempts at making a mad dash out of the dining room and going AWOL.  The first thing I do as we sit down is collect the silverware, as no good thing comes from a child wielding a butter knife. Our waiter comes over.  He is tall, and strapping from some Eastern European country or maybe France.  I can’t  read fine print under his name tag which states his country of origin.  His name is Gavin and he has an accent.  He is kind of cute, actually.  He starts giving us the ‘Good evening, the menu tonight…blah blah. blah‘ speech, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the little one trying to reach for my wine glass.  She grabs Hubs soda instead and takes several large swigs.  I shoo her away and try to focus on what he is saying, which is not easy, considering his accent and that I am distracted by little miss soda swiller.

“……..order as much as you like, and when you leave, I guarantee I f*ck you like bull.”

SAY WHAAAAT?  I look up at Hubs……did he hear that? I start to blush….f*ck like bull….really? As opposed to ‘be quiet or you will wake the kids’ kind of f*cking , which is all I really know, these days. Did he really just say that? ….is that what they do in Europe?  Why would he say that ?  And is he talking to Hubs or me?  I forget about the little one and the soda momentarily and my head whips around and look at him, stunned.

“What’s wrong, you don’t want your tummy full?” he smiles at me quizzically.

I blink and it takes me a second to realize he said tummy full, not f*ck like bull.  God help me, I put on a smile, mutter, “Oh yes, that’s fine, indeed”, cast my eyes down ward, and realize it’s been so long since Hubs and I have indulged in carnal pleasures, that now everything sounds perverted.  As I sat and pondered our deprived love life, I notice Delilah with my wine glass.  She is holding it by the stem and grinding a pile of salt she dumped out onto the tablecloth.  She starts banging it.  I go to grab it, but am too late.

CRACK! “Uh-oh.”  The stem broke in her chubby little hand.  Glass is everywhere.  How it’s not in her palm, is an act of God. I pick her up, and see it’s on the table the bench of the booth, the entire table has shards of glass scattered about. We need to move, so we do, to the next table over which is unoccupied.  This is what I get for daydreaming about getting my sexy back.

Gavin, the waiter, comes back and gives the girls new placemats, and this time, plastic cups.  He takes our order, and tussles the little one’s hair.

“Are you ok, sweetheart”?  he asks her gently.

“BLECH!  She replies with the loudest burp I have ever heard from a 2 year old, but then again, not many of them slurp down a good 5 oz. of their daddy’s ginger ale in the course of 20 seconds. “I FART FROM MY MOUTH” !!  She announces proudly.  He recoils slightly before faking a smile. I apologize for her and make her say “excuse me”. He scurries away muttering something about our food will be out shortly.  Make it fast, Gavin.

“Mommy, look at this man” Darla, my 4 year old says pointing to a picture on her placemat. “Do you think he has a worm” ?  The placemat has drawings of little fish and scuba divers.

“A worm? Like to bait the fish with? Maybe sweetie,” I reply.

“NO MOMMY”  Not a worm to catch a fish.  A worm between his legs.  Like boys have….remember when Owen (a younger playmate) had his diaper changed?  I saw his worm. ”

Oh God….THAT worm.  I look at Hubs, kick him under the table.  Let him take this one.  Speechless, he opens his mouth, blinks a few times, and shuts it again, like a fish out of water.  I can see he is not going to be much help.

” Your appetizers are here.” Gavin swoops down on us with two dishes balanced in his hands. “Escargot for you sir, and for Mrs, shrimp cocktail.”  I am just about to say thank you when the big one looks at Gavin and says, “Do you have a worm”?

Hubs’s  eyes are in rapid  fire blink mode and his face is ashen.  My jaw drops and seems stuck.  Gavin, unaware of the inner workings of a precocious 4 year olds mind set, doesn’t miss a beat.

‘No, my little dear, they are not worms, they are escargot, like snails ‘ he says smiling, and glides away.  Thank God for language barriers.

As I start to give a brief (but hopefully discreet) lesson on anatomy,  I can tell she is tuning me out.  She has her crayon in her hand, and is drawing.  Fine with me, as long as she is quiet and maybe she will forget about worms.

Hubs looks up at me, and shakes his head in bewilderment.  “We are going to have our hands full”  he mouths across the table to me.  He is smiling but his eyes look frightened.  “GOING TO”?  I think….how about we DO have our hands full?  Between the strawberry blond protegé of George Forman and a 4 year old that channels, Dr.Ruth, I’d say we are skeeee-rewd (Translation: Screwed).  But I smile at hubs anyway, also shaking my head.  He laughs back, and mouths “I love you” and for a moment we forget the girls are there and it feels like we are on our romantic date after all.  We raise our wine glasses and toast.  I can’t wait for my lobster….I’ve been waiting for this all trip.  Succulent and sweet, drowning in butter and piping hot…mmm…..heaven!  Not something we eat at home – what a rare treat.  Tonight is our big night after all, even with the girls here.  Maybe the evening wont be a wash after all.

“ALLLLL DONE!!!!”  the big one announces loudly and proudly as she holds up the placemat she was working on so intently.  As she does, her hand flies up and knocks over Hub’s ice water.  A full icy 10 oz. glass all over his crotch.  Can you say, cocks on the rock? Now, this may be something enjoyed by certain fetish groups, perhaps, but I can assure you, my poor Hubs’s  face contorted in sheer agony and brutal shock.  He leaps up in pain.  You’ve heard of great balls a fire, right?  Well, this the opposite effect….snow balls, so to speak. The poor bastard was soaked in ice water down to his skivvies.  “Jesus Christ!” he yells, a dark spot in the center of his pants.  His poor “worm’ must be an icicle by now.  So much for my chances of getting lucky.

“Sorry Daddy.”  Darla nonchalantly says to him, as if nothing is wrong.  Hubs is standing there swatting ice cubes off his junk, and trying unsuccessfully to soak up the excess with a cloth napkin.  He contemplates going back to get changed, but that will take 25 minutes and the lobster and steak will be here any moment.  God knows we eat enough cold meals at home, on vacation, we want the real deal, even if it means eating it with your balls on ice.  He settles down and puts his napkin over the iceberg that was once his flamethrower, muttering under his breath.  I catch the words “God dammit” and “should have sent them to kids camp”, but not much else. I look up and notice that Darla is still holding up her placemat proudly for display.

Mommy,” she says impatiently, “Did you SEE my DRAWINGS?”

I look up and discover she drew ‘worm’ penises on all the male characters on the placemats.  W…..T…..F ? My perverted, ponytailed Picasso grins at me proudly.  “Now they all have worms”.  OH my sweet Lord…..”That’s great,” I reply, quickly reaching over and turning the paper face down,  “Now draw me a flower on this side” I nervously glance around and force a smile,  hoping no one else saw her obscene attempt at artistry.

Just then, the Calvary arrives in the form of Gavin, with our meals.  “Here you go. Chicken fingers for you girls,”  he says placing their plates in front of them, unknowingly laying the food on a bed of Crayola cocks..  “And for you both, the Filet and Lobster. Enjoy.”  He sets our plates down, and Hubs and I look up and smile at each other once again, happy and grateful to have such a good meal in front of us.  It’s steaming hot and smells so delicious.  He whispers, “This looks great, Chrissie, enjoy it”.  I smile and say “You too!” and then, just as I am about to sink my fork into my mouth- watering lobster tail, the last words I want to hear come flying out of my 2 year old potty trainers mouth:

“I hafta go poopy”. (No translation required, you’ve all heard that one)

Of course she does.  I drop my fork, and shuffle her back to the 10 minute walk to the nearest bathroom, hoping she doesn’t crap herself along the way.

After a stressful bathroom session which included constant reminders for her not to touch anything, a serious death threat if she went near the used tampon hanging out of the trash, and her whipping open the stall door when it was my turn to tinkle so everyone could see my urination skills are up to par, we return back to the table 23 minutes later.  My lobster is cold and the butter congealed.  The filet mignon looks greasy.  Hubs is shivering, as result of the air conditioner being turned to high, coupled with the ice crystals now forming on his testicles.  The big one got down off the seat and is dancing in the aisle to ‘Mac the Knife’ playing over head.  I’m not hungry anymore. Admitting defeat, and now fully forgoing any thoughts of romance, I ask Gavin to wrap the little ones dinner.  I stuff a piece of bread in my mouth, chug the wine, and we head out.  Poor Hubs is using the take out bag to shield his ‘ballsicles’ from curious stares.  He is walking bowlegged so he literally doesn’t get his cheeks chapped.

The girls on the other hand, are laughing and dancing all the way back to the cabin. Which is exactly what I’d expect of them.

Click HERE to see video from that night in the dining room. Note that Hubs is pissed off looking and that the Little One has attitude. And please don’t forget to “like” my page!

Thank You for reading! And thank you for being so patient for another blog post – I admit to being a victim of the lazy days of summer. I appreciate all the emails and messages sent to me asking me when I was going to post, and I really appreciate all the support and love y’all have shown me! I am extremely lucky to have the most awesome readers who ‘get’ that parenthood isn’t always a bed of roses, and who keep me motivated, forward my blog to friends, tweet it, and repost it on facebook.  THANK YOU! xoxoxox

A SPECIAL SHOUT OUT TO  MICHELLE THOMPSON WHO IS I AM DEDICATING THIS BLOG ENTRY TOO! THIS ONE IS FOR YOU, MICHELLE, THANK YOU FOR REMINDING ME TO WRITE IT, MAY ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE IN THE COMING YEAR. XOXOXO

Edited by Annette Garkowski

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17 Responses to “Is a Hot Meal Too Much to Ask For?”

  1. Michelle T July 8, 2011 at 1:02 pm #

    I love this one! You make me laugh and laugh every single time! The details are spot on and it makes me feel like I am at the next table enjoying lobster tails and filet mignon!

    Thank you soooo much for the “shout out”! I am truly honored and I will gracefully bow out now!

    Bravo!

  2. My Parents Are Crazier Than Yours July 8, 2011 at 1:47 pm #

    “I FART FROM MY MOUTH!” is a t-shirt I’d like to give my father.
    That was so funny!!! Lobster is my favorite food – and I can only imagine your dismay at having it turn cold. Thanks for great writing.

  3. pissykittyslitterbox.com July 8, 2011 at 2:00 pm #

    Oh god…I don’t even know where to start. I found myself nodding my head, and then think I peed a little near the end! It just threw me back into all those moments with my kids when they were young. We live in Iowa so I referred to them as “Children of the Corn”. It was accurate I assure you. And the video…I don’t even have to tell you how damn cute that kid is! Quite the little drama queen. Reminds me of my Jessie when she was little. And…she’s still willing to throw a punch when provoked.
    You may think your posts are too long, but I assure you a post is only ‘too’ long if it fails to hold the readers attention, and yours never does. Stop wasting all this good material on this blog and write a book woman!!!

  4. Kim July 8, 2011 at 6:05 pm #

    Came over from Pissy’s blog… Love this!!!!!!

    • Kim July 8, 2011 at 6:14 pm #

      you had me when you said your blogs were “too foul” for freshly pressed… lol I knew right then I had a new pal! 😉

  5. ASuburbanLife July 8, 2011 at 6:34 pm #

    Oh my, this post just kept getting funnier and funnier. Thanks for sharing!

  6. Sabrina July 8, 2011 at 8:15 pm #

    Christine, I always love your tales! I miss them when there are lulls in between but I know life is hectic for everyone! Keep em coming when you can and keep us laughing with you at our own meager attempts at parenthood!

  7. notesfromrumbleycottage July 9, 2011 at 1:29 am #

    All right, this is my life with a southern accent. I laughed, I understood, I hoped that Gavin was really gorgeous.

  8. thedailydish July 10, 2011 at 3:46 pm #

    Every time I read one of your stories, C, I cannot help but THANK GOD ALMIGHTY that my daughters are now 11 and (almost) 8. Been there, done that, but man how I LOVE reliving it via your hilarity. Hope your husband has fully thawed by now. Sorry for the delay – we’ve been on vacation the past 2 weeks. XO

  9. meleah rebeccah July 11, 2011 at 5:34 pm #

    Okay, I am DYING laughing at this:

    “he said tummy full, not f*ck like bull”

    AHHAHAHHAHAH

    And, the next time I burp in public, I am totally stealing her quote, ““I FART FROM MY MOUTH” !

    I cannot believe she asked the waiter if he had a “worm” – how did you and your husband NOT drop dead from embarrassment? Good thing Gavin didn’t know what she was talking about. And, good thing you hid her drawing!!!

    Oh, man….I’m sorry you didn’t get to eat your lobster when it was fresh from the kitchen.

  10. The Girl from the Ghetto July 12, 2011 at 2:04 am #

    Oh my god, did you make me laugh with this post. I am crushed for you about missing out on that steak–just absolutely crushed. But that is life, and you have made the most out of that misery by retelling that miserable dinner event with laughter in your heart.

    The worms just about killed me, by the way!

  11. Tori Nelson July 12, 2011 at 9:07 pm #

    Sweet Jesus, I can’t stop laughing but I feel like I should kind of cry for you, too! Kids are such a joy… except when they’re not.

  12. goodbyereality411 July 16, 2011 at 6:07 pm #

    This was hilarious.

  13. The Logophile July 18, 2011 at 12:17 pm #

    You never cease to entertain me. Oh how I feel your pain. Eating alone, eating hot food, getting lucky, and even just a moment to speak to your own hubs without all hell breaking loose; all a far off dream.

    Your pictures are amazing. The girls look beautiful and their eyes, absolutely gorgeous!

  14. Sandra July 20, 2011 at 9:41 pm #

    First of all, this was a superb piece of writing! And I know the two year old is infuriating, but I sort of love her. I have a thing for the feisty little ones who fart through their mouths. And I love that your husband mouthed that he loved you. I actually said “Awwww!” out loud. My daughter is looking at me funny now…

  15. the island traveler July 28, 2011 at 2:17 am #

    My son was a perfect description of terrible 2’s and the more terrible 3’s. I totally can relate to what you’re going through. I stop counting the time out’s although it does help. The ” worm story” was funny. My son would ask me questions that sounds so serious to him but kind of funny when you’re a grown up. And the hard part is how to translate those questions in words they can understand. It’s nice to read a post that had a similar experiences as a parent. great photo of the beach with the kids watching the boat.

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Is a Hot Meal Too Much to Ask For? (via livelaughloveliquor) « Latina con Leche - July 13, 2011

    […] "I'm sorry Mrs. ______.  She struck another little girl when they were fighting over a toy.  She is banned from Kids camp for 24 hours and if she hits again, she can not come back for the remainder of the cruise."  The director of the child watch center on our cruise line explained to me very kindly, but firmly. I looked down at the little one.  Her mop of strawberry blonde curls hung over down cast eyes.  Banned from kids camp, we walked back to … Read More […]

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