Going out for a nice, quiet dinner.
Instead, try this on for size:
H takes J out to car. Meanwhile, I load up diaper bag; make sure there is a change of clothes in diaper bag, just in case. Then grab supplies - baby spoon, Cheerios, rice pudding, sippy of milk, toys ... never hurts to be prepared. Check. Head out to car.
Arrive at restaurant. Two and a highchair please. Do we want crayons? No; he eats them. Children's menu? Yes, please and thank you.
Sit down. Strap J into highchair. Look at menus. J throws his at the next table. People laugh, and wave happily at J. Thankfully they like children, 'cause it only gets worse from there.
Waitress comes to take our order. Place order. J will have the "Bugs 'n' Cheese". Does he need a drink? No thank you (as I proudly point to his sippy of milk that I remembered to bring - he always spills those kiddie cups at restaurants and makes a mess). Can he keep his menu to play with? Sure!
J sees me point at his milk. Reaches for milk. Can't quite reach it. Shrieks. Give J his milk. He drinks. Throws cup on the floor, still quite full. But it's a sippy, so that's okay; the milk stays in it. Pick up cup, put back on table. J throws menu at next table again. They laugh. J starts up a conversation with them. "Aiee aiee oooo", says J. Loudly. Nice people wave at J. He waves back.
Waitress brings food. Take out little spoon. It's sticky. Ick! Go clean spoon while H entertains J.
Pasta too hot. Stir so it will cool down. Meanwhile, J reaches for his pasta, and pitches a fit.
Pasta cooled down now. Scoop little mouthfuls into J's mouth. J is appreciative, and gobbles up his pasta. At first. But after 4 or 5 little mouthfuls, J decides he'd rather have his milk. Grabs cup. Takes a couple of sips. Throws cup on floor forcefully. H retrieves cup. Hands cup back to J. J lifts cup up, and the lid comes off. SPLOOSH! A very wet J drips on the floor, while milk pools in the seat of his highchair. Nice people at next table hand me a napkin.
H takes J to bathroom to change his clothes, and I take the opportunity to wolf down my food in their absence. There may be no other opportunity. Waitress stops by. I apologize for the mess. Ask her to refill J's sippy with chocolate milk. He may like it better. She's happy to oblige.
H returns. Straps J back into highchair. Sits down to finish his meal. More pasta, J? No. J drags his hands through the pasta, then rubs alfredo sauce into his hair and eyes, and onto his clean pants. Milk? J throws cup on floor. More pasta? NO!!!! Milk? Takes two sips, and tosses cup at next table. Screams.
J eats a few Cheerios, and then, much to my dismay, begins to pelt them at next table and wait staff. Flinging Cheerios madly, he screams like a Velociraptor.
Put Cheerios away. J is upset. Wants his milk. Tries to pour it over his clean clothes. Milk goes away.
Pay bill. Tip well. Apologize to wait staff again. Take J to car. J screams and, once strapped in, pours chocolate milk into his carseat. Set jaw. Drive home. Put J to bed. J will not sleep. H needs to pill cat, so he brings me J as I sit at computer typing lengthy blog entry. J throws toys at computer until it restarts and I have to retype this post.