They’ve all grown up so fast. People warned me it would happen in the blink of an eye, and while I believed it, I couldn’t quite grasp how quickly an entire chapter of our lives—my middle years and their beginnings—would flash before me. I find myself yearning for those moments we shared, even the ones I thought I wouldn’t miss. Yes, even the adventure of dining out with them.
I find myself reminiscing about their squirmy little bodies in their seats, as if they had ants in their pants. I can almost see them climbing over me without hesitation, using my shoulders as a launching pad to sneak a peek at the diners next to us.
I miss how they would affectionately rest their tiny feet on my face while I meticulously tried to maneuver a forkful of food into my mouth, as if I were defusing a bomb instead of just eating.
Honestly, I’ll miss the delightful chaos of sharing meals with someone’s behind right in my face. I’ll miss the mad dash from our table every time one of them needed the restroom—never at the same time, of course.
I’ll miss wrestling their fingers away from my plate when they try to snag the croutons, and the anticipation that came with whether I’d ever get to eat my own. I’ll even miss the surprise of cold water splashing onto my lap as someone spills their drink.
I’ll remember those chubby little hands plucking food from my mouth while I was still chewing—only for them to decide they didn’t like it and return it to my open mouth. I’ll miss chugging that budget-friendly house chardonnay like it’s sparkling water.
I’ll miss the thrill of watching crayons tumble to the floor repeatedly, requiring my little ones to crawl underneath the table and roll in who-knows-what to retrieve them. I’ll ponder why we give round crayons to tiny hands, as if that design flaw was a cosmic joke.
I’ll miss reaching into their tiny jaws to fish out paper wrappers from their straws. And those sibling squabbles that erupted at every meal—those “he said, she said” moments that inevitably ended in tears (mostly mine).
I’ll laugh remembering them picking their noses, and the endless cycle of hand-washing that made my skin flake off like breadcrumbs. I’ll miss the ritual of scanning the menu and sometimes forgetting to order for myself because watching them eat was just so charming.
And let’s not forget the aftermath at our table, looking like it had endured a natural disaster or even a burglary—items strewn about in a chaotic yet oddly organized manner. I’ll miss tipping more than the meal cost to make up for the delightful mess.
Honestly, trust me, as my children have grown up, I can assure you that you will miss these precious moments. So take them out, through all the spills, fights, and chaos, because one day you’ll long for it—though no one ever says that out loud.
Whenever someone tells me to cherish every moment of digging crouton crumbs out of my bra, I can’t help but roll my eyes. When that inevitable moment arrives, I’ll look at my 9-, 7-, and 3-year-olds and reach for the takeout menus or the Goldfish. And under my breath, I’ll utter that timeless parenting truth: “Hello, Pizza Palace? I’d like to place an order for delivery.”
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Summary:
This post reminisces about the chaotic yet cherished moments of dining out with kids, highlighting the amusing challenges and messes that come with parenting. It encourages parents to embrace these fleeting times, even when they seem overwhelming, while providing links to valuable resources on home insemination and parenting.