Went to dinner last night. David, me, Daughters Elder and Younger, that is, along with my mom and brother. We wanted to do something to remember David’s dad, who passed away two years ago at the age of way-too-young. In my family, remembering means eating, so eating we did (quite honestly, it also involves drinking–a toast, as it were–but not nearly as much as the eating).
I kind of have to chuckle at how we’re still adamant about trying to–at least occasionally–combine our old, young-people-about-the-town personae with our present family. Like last night, for instance, we went to a Belgian restaurant because David’s dad was of French descent, and Belgium was about as close as we could get. We were surrounded by tables filled with couples, girlfriends, work buddies–all adults–and, of course, drawing attention with our two small–albeit awesomely well-behaved–girls. David and I barely exchanged two words with each other, what with all the cutting of food, ordering of milk, wiping of spills. But, by golly, we did it. Just like we still went out to celebrate St. Paddy’s Day. Granted, all we did was go to dinner again–at 4:30 p.m., no less–and I had to wait to drink my solitary Guinness at home after I’d nursed Quinn for the night, but dum-da-DAH!–we celebrated with the best of ’em (sort of). Take that, settling down! Power to the pooped parents!
We usually live and breathe by our children’s sleep schedules (which is why you’ll never see me gallivanting around town between the hours of 1 and 3 in the afternoon. No, sirree. That’s nap time, silly), but still try to enjoy the world we used to know (and its really good food and well-crafted beer) as much as we can. We want our kids to know how to behave in a restaurant, how to use manners in public, feel comfortable with new foods and activities that aren’t necessarily geared toward the lil’ folk. We’re trying. And the girls are doing well. If Pop were still with us today (oh, how I wish), I think he’d be nodding in approval.