Last night, we went to California Pizza Kitchen, after opening the fridge to discover some water, lettuce, condiments… maybe some salsa? You get the picture. Maybe your fridge looks the same? Or, maybe not and you’re perfect, in which case we can’t be friends anymore.
We parked on the roof and walked down four flights of parking garage stairs. Graham pointed out that someone left their beer on the stairs. We pretended not to notice the urine smell. I was horrified that Graham was using the handrail as he bounded down each step.
“Stop touching that! Don’t hold the handrail!” I blurted.
His safety-first conscious (the part that mysteriously turns off right before he steps out into oncoming traffic) put a look of confusion on his face. “But mom, I’m supposed to hold the handrail so I don’t fall down. Do you WANT me to fall down? WHAT KIND OF MOTHER ARE YOU?” I imagined him interrogating me. We washed hands inside the restaurant after I took the chill pill my husband offered and decided that washing away germs was the lesser evil when compared to falling down stairs.
Nothing like urine smell to kick the appetite into gear.
Sitting in restaurants waiting for food is not a kid-friendly activity. Thus we carry around the bag of tricks. It also holds diapers and wipes. Snacks. Matchbox cars.
These are the things that used to preoccupy the Hawklets. Not anymore.
(They do preoccupy Hubby Hawks, though. He showed me the hairstyle he gave to Wooly Willy. He was so proud.)
So with a table littered with matchbox cars, we shifted focus to the kids menu and crayons. The menu offered tic-tac-toe. So I decided it could become a teaching moment.
When did I become my mother?
Graham was interested at first. “Okay, I’m going to be ‘X’ and I’ll put an ‘X’ right here!” I demonstrated. “Where do you want to put your ‘O’?” I asked excitedly.
He saw right through. “I just want to put a ‘K’ there.”
While I’ve never actually read the rules to tic-tac-toe, something just didn’t feel right about that.
Today when putting books back on his shelf he noticed his “Baby’s First Bible” and decided it looked interesting. He wanted to take it in the car. But remembered as we were pulling out of the driveway.
“Wait! I forgot my God book! I forgot MY GOD BOOK!” he wailed.
“You can love Jesus even if you don’t read the Bible,” Hubby reassured him.
I guess we’ve been on a kick around here lately, because Reid now adds an “Amen” to the end of the ABCs. Sometimes he claps for himself and cheers, “Yay!” and other times, just a succinct “Amen.” It really adds some umph to an unexpected moment so now I’m thinking about adding “Amen” to the end of conference calls or emails.
Or blog posts.