This post was originally published on The Adventures of Goober Grape & Monkey Man as a guest post. I wanted to repost it here in honor of my friends, Dan and Wendy, who recently got engaged.
I am beyond excited for Dan and Wendy – so much so that Wendy is probably all
Whatevs. I am stupid excited about this and I am not going to make any apologies for it. Maybe my over the top excitement is partly because it will mean a weekend away from home and maaaaybe it will be child free. ::raises roof::
Congratulations Dan and Wendy! In celebration of this joyous occasion, I would like to present the retelling of the single most embarrassing moment of my parenting life.
I think we’ve all had at least one moment in our lives where we want to turn back the hands of time – even for just a few minutes – and start over. A moment so embarrassing that you are standing on the line of laughing hysterically or crying and running out of the room.
This all started about 2 months ago. Dan, a friend from college, [for the sake of convenience, we will refer to it as college] sent me a message on Facebook. He wanted to know if I would be around in January because he and his girlfriend were coming to Philly.
I’ve known Dan since 1995 – back when he had this haircut:
So that means we have a fairly long history. We’ve had our ups and downs, we’ve seen each other stupid drunk and just plain stupid. We’ve had our laughs and our quibbles. We had a lot of good times with the rest of our group of college friends and if memory serves correct, we’ve witnessed one another do a lot of really dumb things.
Dan and I had not seen each other in about 8 years. We’ve kept in touch over the years through email and IM but never got together because of the distance (he is a 3+ hour drive from me). So I was super excited to meet up with him and meet his new (to me) girlfriend, Wendy.
|Aren’t they adorable?|
But where should we meet up?
This is where the problem truly started…..sigh…..
It’s been many years since I have lived in Philly. Additionally, being the homebody that I am, night life and restaurants are somewhat foreign to me. So I rely heavily on the recommendations of other people when I’m going out of my element. I was looking for a place that was not necessarily family friendly but not too upscale. Simply a place I could take Iz and she wouldn’t be screaming and lobbing crayons at people during their quiet, $85 a plate ‘experience’. I wanted to go someplace where the adults would enjoy the environment and the kid could be entertained with some crayons and small toys. A friend suggested Monk’s. Perfect! Its within walking distance of Dan and Wendy’s hotel and the menu prices are decent. I was sold!
Well, buyer beware. Always review what you are buying into before you sign off on the check.
As if the nerves from meeting up with my friend wasn’t enough – apparently the place we chose was more bar than it was restaurant. So in the midst of those first awkward moments of meeting new people and getting reacquainted with others, I had to juggle my antsy toddler around the bar amongst strangers that didn’t exactly have plans to hang out with a kid. To make matters worse, we had to wait about 45 minutes for a table. That’s right people. I spent 45 minutes at the seriously crowded bar with my two and a half year old. And while I am not exactly proud of this, that’s not the embarrassing part of this story. Besides, I personally think it would be pretty damn funny (in a sick way) to come into a bar and see a two year old sitting there coloring in a Hello Kitty activity book. The only thing that would make it more messed up is if she had a Shirley Temple in a martini glass.
Finally we get a table and Izzy is on her 4th trip to the potty. Christian and I had been taking turns with the trips to the bathroom. But when we sat down in the booth, it was just simpler to take her myself since I was seated on the outside. Izzy was absolutely obsessed with the bathroom. I can’t blame her, it was just the right size. The toilet was sort of short and the sink was tiny and low – just her height. Every 10 FREAKING minutes she has to go potty. Back and forth, back and forth. I think I saw that bathroom more than I actually saw my friends.
With each trip to the bathroom I was becoming less and less patient. Don’t get me wrong, I completely appreciate that poor Iz was totally out of her comfort zone. And perhaps she was a little over excited by the bustling environment and the new people. Bathroom trips aside, I was very impressed with how well behaved she was despite the surroundings. But after, like, the 80th trip to the bathroom, I was so over the potty game. All I could think about was going through the motions, getting it done and getting back to the table.
So we are on yet another trip to the bathroom. By now Izzy and I had our bathroom routine down pat. Efficiency experts should call on me to find out how to get a toddler out of a bathroom in under three minutes. I’d whip up a pee pee tent, constructed from the finest, low grade, one ply toilet paper in Philadelphia. She’d do her business, I’d lift her off the seat, wipe, set her up at the sink to wash her hands, I’d flush everything, turn back around and pull up her pants and wash my hands and back to the party we’d go.
You want to take a guess at which step I forgot to do on this last trip to the bathroom?
Yeah…it wasn’t the hand washing. Or the flushing.
We walked all the way back to the table. As I lifted this poor child back up into the booth, my husband exclaims ‘Baby! Her pants are down!’. I laughed and said ‘What?’ and he repeated himself. And that is when time came to a crawl, the room suddenly got hot and the walls became a little wavy. I looked at Christian, then Dan, then Wendy all the while reaching for Izzy to cover this poor child’s exposed everything.