Jun 152013

Coach & I went out for date night tonight. It was nice to do something that is a part of our regular routine. Anyway…

I made Coach decide on the dining establishment. I always pick. And I didn’t want to pick… so we went round & round before he finally picked. I’m at odds as to whether this was the right course of action to be taken.

We ended up at one of those establishments that is a favorite of men & children. Mostly because it’s acceptable to throw food on the floor. I’ve never understand the fascination with throwing remnants of your food onto the floor. I suppose there are some women who enjoy the folly as well.

The dining room was full. It would seem that maybe this was family night. I have no problem with being in a restaurant when kids are present. Unless of course the kids are running amuck doing whatever the hell they want to while the parents are busy drinking, playing cards (yes, playing cards…at the dinner table), reading Facebook or watching whatever sporting event is being shown on the 47 televisions scattered throughout the area. Let’s not forget the coughing, sneezing and general snotty germ spreading nature of small kiddos.

Tonight just as we were beginning to enjoy our dinner, a boy of about 4 jumps up from his dinner table which was located very near to ours… he began running around the dining room, weaving and bobbing in out of tables. and to make matters worse, he was scooping up discarded peanut shells from the floor… the shells that have been walked on with shoes of hundreds of people who were previously walking outside, quite possibly stepping in dog poop… or in the bathrooms walking across the stickiness of dried urine… this kids was scooping up the filthy shells and THROWING THEM THROUGH THE DINING ROOM!

His parents never got up, never said a word. As peanut shell shrapnel is flying through the air, Coach & I assume the prison dining position of guarding your plate. We did our best to create a food shelter in an effort to keep the nasty peanut shit from landing in our food. Finally, after about 30 minutes of the heathen child running amuck, the women finished their card game, the guys gathered up their ball caps, the matriarch put away her electronic device and they all walked out. Thank Gawd. My back was really beginning to jam up from that prison hover over your plate posture.

In other news….

Today is the one week anniversary of my father’s near death experience. It’s amazing to realize that one week ago this is what he looked like:



And today he looks like this!

Dad 6.15.13

I sit here and realize how blessed I am. Tomorrow is Father’s Day and this year it could have taken on a whole new meaning for me. But Dad is getting stronger each and every day. He is connecting the dots on what happened to him. The worst moment for me is when I found out that Dad didn’t think the lobectomy had been done. He had been thinking they couldn’t do the surgery and the cancer was still inside him festering. He was thinking he was too weak to have the surgery again… which meant he wouldn’t be with us much longer. I can only imagine how awful he must’ve been feeling. Thinking he’d gone through all of this and it was unsuccessful.

But he knows the truth now. The cancer was removed. He is getting better. And plans are being made.

Being an adult is like looking both ways before you cross the street and then getting hit by an airplane.

  4 Responses to “Filthy Flying Peanut Shells”

  1. Ha, I have to confess that I am one of those “few women that enjoy such antics.” Favorite place to go on Martha Vineyard is The Offshore Alehouse, not only because their food is great, and they make AWESOME beers, but because they have BIG barrels of peanuts and you can scoop up, transport to your table, and throw shells on the floor! (Although I have to admit, my shells end up in a clean little pile on a napkin in front of me, so I don’t actually participate in the whole “throwing the shells” thing….just like to SAY that I do:)
    BUT since in my “FORMER LIFE” my EX owned “kid-friendly pubs” I can COMPLETELY understand the frustration and sheer outrage at parents that think that establishments that allow kids, somehow is a hall-pass to neglect their kids; ignore ALL parental duties, and become simple ASSHOLES. I even went so far as to putting up a wooden sign that I crafted that read “ALL CHILDREN LEFT RUNNING AND UNATTENDED WILL BE TOWED AT THE OWNERS EXPENSE”
    BUT that didn’t do it! I remember one particular night, there was a kid about 5 (thinking by that age, they should KNOW better.) He was jumping up and down on the couch that we had in front of the fireplace. I had gone over and suggested that he not be doing that (remember I DO have 3 kids, and have been a nanny and a teacher, I GET kids, I truly LIKE them….MOST of them.) He continued to jump and it escalated to trying to do some sort of Ninja move of jumping, kicking and landing on the slate hearth of said fireplace. This brought his antics from simply being annoying to downright dangerous. Much more firmly I told him to stop, at which point his arrogant (and BUZZED) father came over to me, placed himself chest to chest with me and while poking my shoulder, told me to NEVER tell his kid what to do. He then threatened to get “the management” if I continued to pick on his kid. Although I had never been one to jump at the chance of claiming ownership of said restaurant (was my EXs gig, not mine) at this moment in time, I took a whole lot of pleasure in announcing that I WAS management, in fact the owner. The amazing thing is that this didn’t do much to quell his anger, or attitude and in defiance, he turned to “little JUMPING JIMMY” and told him he was welcome to continue on.
    Realize that this is a LONG comment, and that is RUDE of me to take over your blog like this (I have a problem of not knowing when to quit:) BUT the moral of the story is, as I was getting the manager we had on site that night (BIG guy, tatoos everywhere, looked intimidating but the biggest teddy bear ever) to ask for assistance, JUMPING JIMMY did continue and guess what….EXACTLY what I had feared (other than his behavior being incredibly disruptive to the other patrons) was JUMPING JIMMY did NOT land his final flight, and ended up whacking his head on the fore-mentioned slate hearth. Fortunately there was NO blood, but a damn BIG bump, big enough to warrant a trip to the ER to check for concussion/brain swelling. As arrogant asshole dad, gathered up his now wailing little jumper, he turned to me and BLAMED me as the owner and PROMISED that I would be hearing from his lawyer, to own an establishment with feature that were SO inappropriate for “little children.” My saving grace to all of this was the gentleman that was seated at the table just behind the jumping couch, had seen and heard EVERYTHING, and just happens to be one the most prominent lawyers in the city. Over the moans and screams of little “JUMPING JOHNNY” he stood up, extracted a business card, handed it to arrogant asshole dad, and simply said “I don’t think that would be a good idea.” NEVER did hear from that “LOVING AND ATTENTIVE” father:)

  2. all i can say is, good entry. it made me smile about your father’s recovery.

  3. Big, big smiles – at the news about your father.
    Hiss and spit about children being allowed to run amok in a restaurant. Some parents shouldn’t be.

  4. Guess I should have flung a few at you!!!!!

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