Last weekend, we took the kids and the grandbabies to the beach, and we had just about more fun than humans can stand. In addition to enjoying the perfect weather and the Gulf breezes, and watching the one- and three-year-olds play in the water, we had lots of good food.
One evening, we decided to try a restaurant that was just down the street from where we were staying. It was a fondue place, and it sounded wonderful, so off we went.
I should preface this by saying that, as in most families, the children’s personalities complement each other. StickyBun is kind of a laid-back, go-with-the-flow one-year-old, while The Fred, at three, is hugely entertaining and often unpredictable. As I like to say, her mind is a wonderland.
So here we are, trying to make all these decisions about salads and entrees and dips and fondue pots, when StickyBun begins to cry. Usually, StickyBun is like my Burmese cats—he doesn’t say anything unless he really has something important to impart—he just points. He points at the dog, he points at the cat, he points at his toys, he points at the ocean, and he points at that snack you’re eating, to remind you that you’re not sharing.
So when the crying turns to a howl, we are caught off guard. Our waitress has trouble making herself heard over the ruckus and on one occasion loses her train of thought completely.
Meanwhile, at the Home of the Three-Hour Meal, each course requires a little thought and planning, and we’re all beginning to get this glassy-eyed stare as we watch our waitress valiantly explaining the fondue process over StickyBun’s cries. The Fred, happily bouncing through dinner, and obviously enjoying her new diaper-free status, causes no fuss other than asking to go to the bathroom 6 or 7 times.
Finally, Pappy gives up and takes the little boy back to the condo while the rest of us stay behind to finish dessert.
Ah, dessert . . . I have to tell you, it was a beautiful meal and I really enjoyed it, but this is not the place to take a fussy baby.
I guess we grownups should have paid attention when the baby was pointing at the inside of his mouth, gnawing on the sunscreen tube, and crying earlier. He tried to tell us he had four teeth coming in and he didn't want to go to the Home of the Three-Hour Dinner, but we were too busy splashing in the ocean to listen to him.