Slice?

You know when all signs are pointing you in a direction and you just ignore them? And, when looking back you think, "Oh...perhaps I should have paid attention?"

Yesterday was a day like most others, filled with playtime and lunchtime and some fun romps around the backyard, looking for anthills and fuzzy dandelions. I decided to have my hubby meet us down at the local park at 5pm, so I could get in a walk and the kids could get their swing and slide fix. It was going well and we soon discovered that our 13 month old loves her some climbing and is quite deft at it. She started rubbing her eyes after about 35 minutes so we decided that it was time to go and eat that yummy supper I had made (lentil soup, which IS good, by the way). She was getting tired and snuggled me a little bit (this would be the first sign that I ignored), but I figured it was indeed close to her bedtime, so we packed the girls in the car and headed off.

We decided (forgetting that first sign?) that maybe we would do an impromptu (this is never a good idea, really) trip to the local pizza place for their yummy bogo pizzas and a turkey tip salad. And beer. Because of our oldests' Celiac Disease, we stopped home quickly to gather up yummies for her and the baby. In the driveway, our two year old chucked her sippy cup at Jared's head (this would be the second sign that we, like two jackasses intent on beer and pizza, ignored).

Okay, off we go. Bag of food in hand, we were feeling good...we can do this right? This is an okay idea, right? Sure, sure. We're laid back, we can hang. We can be spontaneous! Cool parents are spontaneous. We're cool. (Note: not really. We're in this case, buffoons). "Oh crap. I totally should have called John and Diane, remember we were going to go down with them? It's 6:15, it's probably too late because this is John's early night home, I bet they've already eaten." I did say this, and felt a bit guilty that we didn't call them, but really, they are lucky we didn't.

We were a bit worried that 6:30 was a bit too late to be venturing out with the kids and on the bogo pizza night, to boot. (3rd sign, dingdongs!) Our waitress (sweet sweet woman!) assured us that table number whatever would be going soon, they had just cashed out. Super, we were in luck, as the place was starting to fill up (think: high school kids looking forward to the end of school, working folks like us, parents with kids, and college kids off for the summer). The cashed-out table was now asking for a pot of coffee! Crap! (sign number 4, ladies and gentleman). We could wait, right? Yeah, we were cool. Spontaneous. Laaaaid back.

Kids needed to walk. Didn't like being held. Oldest was infatuated with golf video game some kids were playing. Youngest was not, she needed to do her drunken 'I'm a new walker!' walk and she did. Getting crabby as time ticked onward (#5). We actually were smart enough (cool and laid back, too!) to order before we even sat down, to expedite the process that was now starting to crumble before our eyes.

My cool, laid back efforts were being a bit thwarted by my desire to tell table whatever to drink their hot F#$%g coffee already. It's 6:45, don't you need to go to sleep? No, no, no....be cool. It's cool. I'm cool. Breathe. Please seat us soon for the love of God or our toddlers will take this establishment down and take all of us with it.

They did. Phew. Carrots and peanut butter for oldest. She is psyched and completely entertained. Bullet dodged. Baby doesn't really want anything, it seems. All set with her bottle of milk (6) and seems to only want plain, simple, Cheerios. (You know when you don't feel well and all you want is plain toast? Yep. It's coming, but I didn't pay it no mind #7). Food arrives! Sweeet! And beer! Niiiiice!

And then.

Pro.

Ject.

Ile.

It was, as some say, on like Donkey Kong. On the table. On her. On me. On the floor. On the napkins. Oh dear lord. I didn't really react, I just waited for the tsunami to end. The 11th grader looked over at our table, horrified, and quickly looked away. (You are welcome, parents of 11th grade boy....you are welcome for the organic birth control....)

Really? It's everywhere. My poor little girl is now starting to say "Mommy mommy mommy" and thankfully my waitress (really, so sweet) is already helping me clean up and has taken off my daughter's completely soaked sweater and placed it in a brown paper bag. She can tell I'm horrified and is telling me a story of her own (her kid barfed on her last week at dinner and it was in her hair...she wins!). She is assuring me that no one has noticied (because I'm of course, secretly worried that I've completely grossed out the entire place and everyone's evening is ruined) and really, no one did (save the not-so-horny-anymore teenaged boy).

My husband, Jared and Samantha, are clearly moved by the incident as they are still eating with wild abandon. Now, I normally would quell my...er...inclination to comment here as it's kind of a sticky (punny!) situation and there is no need to get pissy in the middle of puky. BUT, I couldn't help myself. There is puke all over me. There is a waitress running around taking care of our daughter's sweater and handing me clean towels, and my husband is chomping (chomping!) away at his buffalo chicken pizza, dipped in blue cheese dressing.

So, I commented. He acted. It was, despite the drama, all good.

A warm tubby and fresh pajamas and all was fine. Oh, and the baby took a bath, too.