In June, we went with the Martins on their annual beach trip. One of the highlights of this trip is usually a very relaxing and enjoyable dinner at a nice restaurant. Notice the use of the word usually in that sentence.
Around 5pm, we all loaded up and headed to the restaurant. I forget the name, but it was a nice Italian restaurant. And yes, we had to get there for the senior citizen special because Connor doesn't do well when he's hungry and he usually eats around 5:30 pm. Come to think of it, I don't do well, either, when I'm hungry.
Anyway, we walk into the restaurant and Dennis points out a fish tank in the entry way to Connor. Connor is impressed and everything is set for a relaxing meal together.
Around 5pm, we all loaded up and headed to the restaurant. I forget the name, but it was a nice Italian restaurant. And yes, we had to get there for the senior citizen special because Connor doesn't do well when he's hungry and he usually eats around 5:30 pm. Come to think of it, I don't do well, either, when I'm hungry.
Anyway, we walk into the restaurant and Dennis points out a fish tank in the entry way to Connor. Connor is impressed and everything is set for a relaxing meal together.
As we sit down, Connor decides to yell, "BAAAHHHHH", in the most polite way possible, of course, every single time that the waiter leaves our table. So, people start to notice us in the restaurant at this point.
Then, he starts to fuss a little bit (his chicken strips weren't ready soon enough) so I took him outside to walk up and down the sidewalk. About 10 minutes later, we re-enter the restaurant.
We sat down and got comfortable again. Well, we almost got comfortable. Within what felt like seconds, he started coughing. I mean, REALLY COUGHING. Oh, I forgot to mention that we took the balloon decorations from the hostess stand to our table to distract Connor. So, we're at the table and he's coughing. And we have balloons at our table. In a nice restaurant.
Dennis takes a turn to pick Connor up and takes him outside. Long story short - - and I mean, LONG STORY short - - he almost chokes on one of the stars that were on the balloon decoration at our table.
After Dennis calms down our coughing (choking) child, the two of them re-join the group.
We are drinking wine quickly at this point and trying not to be stressed. But, it's not working.
About 10 minutes after the hoopla with Connor almost choking, a lady at a nearby table turns around and says, "My husband is in respiratory. You should give your son ice now because he throat is probably inflammed." First, lady, thanks for piping up now. I mean, couldn't she have said something WHILE we were trying to help our coughing, choking son? And, second, lady, what do you mean that your husband is "in respiratory"? Lastly, PLEASE don't look at my husband right now because he is giving you a look that says SHUT THE #$%&&* UP. He means it in the nicest way possible, though.
The chicken strips arrive. SWEET. We start to feed Connor and he manages to grab his glass of whole milk and pull it towards himself. And it goes all over him. I don't think that a drop of milk avoided his body. No way, 100% of his whole milk went straight onto his lap. An entire cup of milk on Connor translates to a blood curdling scream.
At this point, we grabbed Connor and went to the car. The Martins said that they would get our food to go. As we left, laughing, Dennis told me, "that was the most exhausting meal that I never had".
We pulled up to the beach house after a short drive and realized one more thing: we didn't have a key. And the doors were all locked. NICE.
We busted through a screen door on the patio and through a window into the kitchen. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Then, he starts to fuss a little bit (his chicken strips weren't ready soon enough) so I took him outside to walk up and down the sidewalk. About 10 minutes later, we re-enter the restaurant.
We sat down and got comfortable again. Well, we almost got comfortable. Within what felt like seconds, he started coughing. I mean, REALLY COUGHING. Oh, I forgot to mention that we took the balloon decorations from the hostess stand to our table to distract Connor. So, we're at the table and he's coughing. And we have balloons at our table. In a nice restaurant.
Dennis takes a turn to pick Connor up and takes him outside. Long story short - - and I mean, LONG STORY short - - he almost chokes on one of the stars that were on the balloon decoration at our table.
After Dennis calms down our coughing (choking) child, the two of them re-join the group.
We are drinking wine quickly at this point and trying not to be stressed. But, it's not working.
About 10 minutes after the hoopla with Connor almost choking, a lady at a nearby table turns around and says, "My husband is in respiratory. You should give your son ice now because he throat is probably inflammed." First, lady, thanks for piping up now. I mean, couldn't she have said something WHILE we were trying to help our coughing, choking son? And, second, lady, what do you mean that your husband is "in respiratory"? Lastly, PLEASE don't look at my husband right now because he is giving you a look that says SHUT THE #$%&&* UP. He means it in the nicest way possible, though.
The chicken strips arrive. SWEET. We start to feed Connor and he manages to grab his glass of whole milk and pull it towards himself. And it goes all over him. I don't think that a drop of milk avoided his body. No way, 100% of his whole milk went straight onto his lap. An entire cup of milk on Connor translates to a blood curdling scream.
At this point, we grabbed Connor and went to the car. The Martins said that they would get our food to go. As we left, laughing, Dennis told me, "that was the most exhausting meal that I never had".
We pulled up to the beach house after a short drive and realized one more thing: we didn't have a key. And the doors were all locked. NICE.
We busted through a screen door on the patio and through a window into the kitchen. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
It was the perfect ending to a perfect night of chaos. Fun, perfect, stressful, chaos. So, it's official. We were THOSE PEOPLE at dinner. But, y'know what? There is no one else in the world that I would have rather been.
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