On Sunday, we celebrated Nana’s birthday by eating lunch together after church. We had a huge table full of kids and grandkids and lots of fun. Our kids were really well behaved, but acted like the preschooler’s they are. They moved around a little, dropped some crayons and all had to potty at least once. Alston managed to break away once and attempted to sit with another family… it was pretty funny!
A few minutes into lunch another booth near us filled up. Two of the occupants appeared to be grandmother and grandson. He was crying when they got there and his behavior only got worse. He bucked and wiggled and screamed at the top of his lungs. Once when I was in the bathroom changing Sophie, she brought him into a stall and attempted to calm him down. I’m guessing you know by now that this didn’t happen. We all commented on how glad we were that our kids were at least playing quietly.
Fast forward to Tuesday. I attended a lunch meeting with several ladies I knew and I few that I didn’t. During the course of the meal, the topic of conversation strayed to how you discipline your children in public. One of the ladies remarked that she had kept her grandson over the weekend and for some strange reason gears began to turn in my head. She mentioned that he was fussing “a little” and that she tried using her “sweet, grammy voice” but that he wasn’t responsive. Everyone chuckled and I started to sweat a little. Then she commented that he would have been much easier to handle if the table next to her hadn’t been full of kids who were “allowed to run all over the restaurant.” Y’all – those kids were mine!
Can I tell you how hard it was to keep sweet tea from spewing out of my nose. I’m sorry that she thought our kids were so terrible when they weren’t. I didn’t correct her or tell her that I was at that table. It was perhaps the greatest act of restraint I’ve ever managed.
