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Eating Out With Toddlers

Maybe it’s just my kids – they are crazy – but eating out with kids is like being subjected to the tenth level of hell. I recently embarked on a lunch date with not one, not two, but FOUR toddlers and it was literally one of the worst mistakes I’ve ever made. It doesn’t help that the service was quite slow – although we had an awesome server.

They wiggle and jiggle and yell. They fight over crayons and coloring sheets. They slide under the table and try to escape the booth. Drinks don’t distract longer than a few seconds. They bother the people sitting in the booth next to ours. They completely forget what an inside voice is.

O finds it particularly funny to try to crawl under the table and through our interlocked legs that we have used to form a half-assed gate. He will run to whatever corner of the restaurant seems most appealing, all while smiling and laughing and catching the eye of every person over the age of 55. Why don’t I strap him into a highchair? Mostly because he finds a way to escape the seat belt EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Ugh.

You finally get to a point where you just succumb to the fact that this has become an adventure in parenting rather than a nice meal. O has apparently dropped a piece of fruit on the ground because he comes back up from below the table eating it. I have officially given up.

“So that’s happening. Floor food for the win apparently.”

Did we survive? Sure. Because that’s what you do when you have toddlers. You survive. We had to pull the van up and load the kids up two at a time. One of left to deal with the aftermath and the payment.

The worst part is, I’ll end up doing it again? Why do I subject myself to the tortures of eating out with toddlers? Well, it probably has to do with the fact that if I don’t take them out to eat, they’ll never learn how to act in public. But, man, what a shitty age for my kids and eating out.

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