 It never happens in the summer, though, because, of course, the rug
rats are home and there is some kind of law that says I have to feed
them too. If I left them alone for half an hour while I went out for
lunch with my husband, chances are that there would only be one of
something that they all wanted to eat for lunch, and instead of
flipping a coin, arm wrestling or some other civilized tiebreaker,
they would choose to do physical harm to one another ... which would
mean I'd come home to a few less children ... and I know I'd miss
them ... eventually. It's not worth it.We could take them with us
and suffer the consequences. The problem with children is that they
are born with firecrackers in their backsides, which results in the
familiar phenomenon of them never being able to sit in a chair for
more than five seconds. To alleviate the continual bouncing, we
would choose a booth.
A booth has its own drawbacks, though, because although the
children stay seated in the booth longer, so does their food.
This is a particular challenge in the summer when I'm wearing
shorts. The bits of bread, chips and pickle spears eventually find
their way to the lowest part of the booth, which happens to be under
my rather largish behind. When the meal is over, we have to spend 10
minutes digging the child's meal out of my cellulite-ridden thighs.
They look like a moonscape, only its craters are filled with
garbage.
The issue of munchkin food and its subsequent challenges are a
given. But the conversations with our children at lunchtime are
always so stimulating as well. The topics are random and, I swear,
meant to throw their parents off the scent of sensible discourse. We
are asked to answer absurd questions such as: "Why are an octopus'
legs called tentacles?"
[to top of second column] |
 "Well, why not? Maybe because ‘salt shaker' was already taken?"
"No. Shouldn't they be called ‘eight-acles'?"
"Good question. Why don't you ask an octopus?"
With such exhilarating (read "exhausting") subjects to discuss,
is it any wonder that we'd rather not go on a lunch date than bring
the children with us?
However, our lunch dates are more important than you think. I
have found that if I don't set up a lunch date with my husband,
sometimes I don't eat right ... and he doesn't eat at all.
"What did you have for lunch today?"
"A spoonful of peanut butter, a grape popsicle and the crumbs in
the bottom of the Dorito bag. What did you have?"
"A great big, steaming bowl of squat."
So, yeah, we kind of need our lunch dates. But summer is over and
we can finally have an occasional lunch that does not include a
"Happy Meal," a request for quarters for the gum machine or a
bazillion trips to the restroom.
[By LAURA SNYDER]
You can reach the writer at
lsnyder@lauraonlife.com
Or visit www.lauraonlife.com
for more columns and info about her books.
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