Last night we temporarily lost our minds and went out for dinner. We got carried away with the excitement of a summertime Saturday night, remembered how before kids, Saturday nights meant doing something fun.
And then once we were sat and Naveen had cleared the table of all it's silverware and was well on his way to holding us hostage with restless boredom before a server could even offer us drinks, I found myself rifling through my purse for a granola bar, a half empty box of raisins or something to restrain him with, when we looked at each other and remembered why we don't go out unless it's a very kid-friendly place.
We gulped down our beers and asked the server to package up our food and headed to a nearby park where we could freely scold the kids to our hearts' content. It was a park with a splashpad, and playscape. There were ducks to feed and at least a dozen other families with small children. We laid out our picnic blanket and ate.
Sadly, it was our kind of place.
And then we came home and started the bedtime routine where Shaune concluded that we had a Rhodes Scholar on our hands because our three year old recited Dr. Seuss' What was I scared of? verbatim. We happily ignored what other kids his age might or might not be capable of, agreeing wholeheartedly that there was indeed something extraordinary about our child.
After discussing this at length, with the clear implication that our unique parenting techniques were likely the catalyst for such genius, we opened a bottle of Shiraz, and checked out what was on TV. Eventually I headed upstairs with my book and was out, in a dead sleep by 10.
I'm joining Stream of Consciousness Sunday at all.things.fadra.