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chopped liver, or: a story of parenting
A couple of weeks ago Indy and I went out to a restaurant here in town and Indy asked them if we could have a window seat. But they brought us to what he considered the wrong one, and he said, “No, that one please,” and pointed to the front window, which had obviously just been vacated and not cleared yet. I was saying words to the effect of “oh my god indy don’t make their lives difficult” when the host suddenly said, “Oh, now I know you! You usually come in with your father!” to Indy, and swept off to clear the table and seat us at it.
I was appalled and spluttering and Indy said, “No, it’s *okay*, Mommy! They know me here! They think I’m charming and delightful, just like the people at the hot chocolate shop do!” Which was clearly true, although I told him we don’t generallyask people to go to more trouble than is necessary for us.
So last night Dad came to babysit and Ted and I got to go OUT TO DINNER on our OWN for an anniversary dinner. We went to this same restaurant, we were seated, the waiter came over…
…and said, “Where is your son?!”
It was 9:05pm and I said, “We hope he’s at home asleep!”
The waiter left and Ted, amused, said, “What are we, chopped liver? We pay for the meal!”
We had dinner, which was delicious, and went to pay.
The host said to us, “How was your dinner? Where is the little one?!”
We started laughing, and the host started telling us what a well-spoken and intelligent child our son was, and how he came across as much older and more experienced than his years, and went on being complimentary until we’d left. *throws hands in air* :)
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*yawn*
Last night I went to see Baz Luhrmann’s Romeo+Juliet, because I’d never seen it and they’re doing a Luhrmann month at one of the cinemas to lead up to Gatsby. (Picoreview: It was pretty good. Bits felt like a dry run for Moulin Rouge, but it was pretty good.) Upon arriving at the Lighthouse Cinema I discovered there was a Star Trek party scheduled for a midnight premiere. Upon *leaving* R+J, I ran into friends…who had a spare ticket.
I did not go. Somewhat grumpily and bitterly and regretfully, I did not go, because Young Indiana wakes up by 7am no matter when I go to bed, and staying out until 3am is sheer stupidity under those circumstances. I went home feeling that being an adult sucks.
Indy woke up irrevocably at 10 to 6 this morning, so that pretty well justified behaving like a grownup, and assuaged the regret.
Still sucks, though.
OTOH, Ted’s meepful, sorrowful, “Did you see Star Trek?” when I began to relate this story to him made me glad I hadn’t gone anyway, though had he and I not just that evening discussed going together this weekend if possible, I might’ve thrown all caution to the wind and gone anyway. :)
I had to run for the train when I left the cinema. I find I don’t mind running if I have somewhere to go (and, er, don’t have too far to go, either :)). I absolutely cannot interest myself in running for the sake of it, although I’m sure it would be more fun/comfortable/satisfying to run when I *have* to if I was more fit for it.
Between that brief run and going to a yoga class yesterday (I swear I could breathe better after it, even if I’m really humiliatingly out of shape, and also, it seems, in need of more potassium in my diet), I could not help wondering why it is that one can be, at bedtime, thoroughly and enthusiastically committed to the idea of exercising, and by morning have lost all enthusiasm for the venture. Seriously, what’s with brains.
Seems like there was something else I was going to post, but can’t think of what. Ah well.
