There is a downside to child-friendly eateries. When children realize an establishment caters to their desires, they tend to relax from their best eating-out behavior and view it as a playground with chicken fingers.
We have one or two restaurants where our kids need help remembering they are there to eat, not run an obstacle course. With the younger boys, I have more patience, but I had to explain to the older boy exactly what payback he was setting himself up for.
I told him that in a few years (perhaps as many as 10), it will become his duty to come fortnightly to the nursing home and pick me up. He will spend every other Friday night taking me out for casual dining, in a restaurant very similar to the one in which he is currently taking liberties.
Six o’clock sharp, every other Friday. I’ll be waiting for him in my overcoat, and whatever other clothes I’ve remembered to wear. (Image: Josh Vichon/US Farm Security Administration)
I will behave and make it seem like a pleasant visit with his old dad, until halfway through dinner, at which point I will have one of my spells and begin throwing chicken with ranch dressing and the ice cream flavor of the day onto every window my eroded flinging skills can reach.
Everybody in the restaurant will stare at us. They will conclude that I am in no condition to control myself and wonder why any responsible adult or teenaged boy (as the case may be) would bring me where I would so predictably disrupt the dinner-time peace of many innocent bystanders.
The manager will come to our table with a wad of napkins and assorted damp rags and nod meaningfully at the soiled windows. My son will begin to clean the windows, only realizing he has mis-prioritized his tasks when I hit him in the back of the head with a hunk of chicken he assumes is intended for the window. He will backtrack and clear my area of weaponizable foodstuffs before returning to the secondary task of cleaning the mess.
As he begins to make progress, I will have an “accident” (wink) in my adult diaper, causing many complaints, and leading the manager to ask him to take me out, regardless of his progress on the windows.
Yeah, you’re probably not gonna want to hold me on your lap after dinner.
It will be a relief to get me away from there, except that, despite my mental feebleness, I’m still spry, racing among the tables, taunting him with my nimble kicks.
He and three employees corner me. As he escorts me to the car, I wail in piercing tones that I haven’t had my ice cream.
He’s humiliated. I ask how many days until our next outing.
I am not sure this prophesy has any lasting effect upon him, but while he’s shaking his head in horror and thinking up excuses for missing our inaugural Friday appointment, he’s not playing tag with his brothers.
For the record, my children don’t throw food at the windows. Also, dementia is a tragic and serious illness, and I will only fake it as a last resort if my children keep pushing me toward payback.
Snoozing on the Sofa 
Payback’s a bitch!
Yup. I just hope they don’t explode my head before I get to pay a little bit back.
Ahaha! Maybe you should video your restaurant excursions with them now so that you have proof of what they put you through. A little guilt never hurt! 😉
If I have an extra hand, I’m gonna use it to eat. They know what they did.
Ha! Maybe just open your mouth and hope to catch an airborne chicken finger!
The risk is not worth the reward.
I believe that!
And thus the cycles complete. 😀
It’s just like the Lion King around here. All cycle of lifey.
LOL
A very good response to the older one……if nothing else, as you said, it did have the effect of toning him down for a few…..perhaps next time tell him Parents’ Night at school is coming up and you’re going to start an early give-back program…….
Come to think of it, parents are allowed to go eat lunch with their kids at his school. Hmmm . . . .
All is fair in love and parenting.
A parent does what a parent has to do.
And some how how kids turn out gracious, like their parents 😀
Well, they’ll probably turn out like their parents, anyway. Gracious may be a different story.
I still remember those days when dining out was nothing like dining out. It was more like trying to control little monsters, who was perfectly normal right up until the point of entering said establishment.
I sympathize with your predicament.
I’m really appreciating the carry-out part of restaurants right now. It’s so much easier just to bring the food home.
You’re supposed to eat, too, Scott? I thought you were supposed to herd them to the table, soothe the other patrons, wash the inside of the windows and mop all soda spills with tiny white napkins, apologize to waiters and managers, and make sure some food ends up in their mouths.
Sometimes I get rebellious and stuff a handful of food in my mouth. Probably not a good idea though, as dining out with kids always seems to lead to indigestion.
Oh, my. The thunder down under.