Waiter, There's a Child in my Soup!

My Beloved and I went on a date the other day. So did our kids.

Seeing how we don’t live close enough to family, and no friends are game enough to take our two for any extended period, it was a family affair to celebrate our recent wedding anniversary.

And we were reminded once again why people usually wait until after marriage to start their family…they get to enjoy the first couple of anniversaries at least!

Yes despite being engaged for 7 years, we just never got around to doing the “I do”s before we had the ‘you know who’s.

And so it was a table for four at the local Chinese restaurant to celebrate the marital milestone.

In hindsight, perhaps it would’ve been easier to order takeout and eat at home. It certainly wouldn’t have been as exhausting.

Since we don’t have the kind of disposable income that caters to more than the occasional splurge on someone else’s cooking, it’s a special kind of excitement for the kids to eat out. Which translates into a whole new world of enjoyment for us, and I do use the term loosely.

From the minute the kids sat down at the table it was apparent we were in for a real treat. I am yet to see an equivalent display of such joy over paper serviettes folded into fans. And if they didn’t know before, everyone around us was now aware that the round bit at the centre of the table spun around … depositing salt, pepper, and soy sauce at various intervals. (The Australian Cricket team has got nothing on the catches my Beloved was taking that night.)

There was almost bloodshed when the prawn crackers arrived with an odd number in the presentation. Since my Beloved is allergic to prawns, it was up to me to referee the distribution of said crackers, and I made the selfless sacrifice of eating the offending extra. At least I got one.

It was touch and go at the serving of the supper, with the kids taking so long to decide which fork and spoon belonged to which person, that I had to resist the urge to tell them to simply grab their fork‘n spoons and start eating!

Apparently, the novelty of dining out only increased their appetites and instead of the usual 30+ minutes it takes for our children to finish their meal at home, they consumed their portions at a speed (and volume) that threatened to break the sound barrier, and were looking for dessert almost before their parents had begun. Not wanting to rev them up any further considering the pure adrenalin rush that they were currently and so obviously experiencing, we tried to slow them down and fill them up on iced water instead. And here I must apologise (in the event that they’re reading this) to the couple sitting at the table next to us, who experienced an impromptu hailstorm as the kids tried to fine-tune the tines they were using to scoop up the ice (their spoons had hit the floor a little earlier in the piece).

It was about then that my Beloved and I shared one of those unspoken moments that longtime lovers have, and by silent mutual agreement we speedily finished up our meals and asked for the bill.

In spite of it all (or perhaps because of it), the owner of the restaurant was very happy as we settled the evening’s account, and even gave the kids two chocolates each on our way out the door.

I’d like to think it was a generous gesture to say thanks for the patronage.

But I’m thinking there was an ulterior motive, and she was sending us off with one last shot of sugar for the kids to enjoy on our way home, given the dinner-show they had provided.

After such an exciting night, we had to spend a little longer getting the kids ready for bed, before my Beloved and I were able to head that way ourselves. Oh but don’t be thinking we got all romantic once the offspring were asleep. Trust me, there’s no better birth control than taking your kids to dinner. And no better sleeping pill than the utter exhaustion of parenting.

Thank heavens anniversaries only roll around once a year; next time we might just have to hire a babysitter.

Jx
©2009