So, I've just had one of the worst dining experiences of my life. No, Actually, this might have been THE worst. No picture for this one, and since a picture is worth a thousand words... here goes the thousand words...
It was Friday - usually one of my favorite day's because I'm off at noon. This day had been a bit more hectic than usual, since hubby was out of town for work. So, I'd spent a fair amount of the morning shuttling the 2 and 5 year olds about to various patched-together babysitting arrangements, and then after work, picked them up again for piano then dance. Additionally, we all have a cold, and it just seemed impossible to keep up with all the snotty noses.
So, Ry LOVES Panera. More specifically, she loves the chicken soup in a bread bowl. She had been talking about it all day - to me, to her friends, to her teachers. I figured "What the heck - Dad's out of town, I'm exhausted, we are all sick, lets do an easy night for dinner"
Little did I know what was in store. Had I known, I don't think I would have believed that the stars could have alligned to produce such a crazy, frustrating and yet comical (in a sad, crying in a public place sort of way) sequence of events.
Now, remember that Jx is also sick at this point with twin rivulets of snot running into his mouth and a large bib of drool on the front of his shirt. He had just polished off an entire bottle of pediasure (and I know, now you're thinking PEDIASURE!?! You gave a snotty, sick toddler THAT? For those of you unaware, Pediasure is the equivalent of a ice cream/multivitamin milkshake that is intended to make up caloric deficiencies in undernourished kids. Not that Jx is exactly undernourished at this point, but he was at one point a 3 pound preemie, and in our haste to try and fatten him up a bit, we allowed him to get addicted to the pediasure. We've gradually weaned him off, but in all my running around and trying to finish up at work with Jx in-tow (he was dropped off at the clinic when I was supposed to be done, but I still had patients in rooms and a stack of charts to complete, and in retrospect, I did give him 2 suckers to keep him occupied while I finished... so, it was NOT exactly a stellar nutritional day), Then I had to get from work to Ry's preschool in order to pick her up and transport all of us to piano to dance, and in the end, Jx napped through lunch ( although in this case, "lunch" for me wound up being peanut butter and yogurt on whole wheat and a blueberry-banana-almond-soy smoothie from the shop next to piano lessons. So when he awoke hungry, I only had pediasure in the car, and although I had serious misgivings, I let him have that - and a couple of sips of my smoothie.
So after such abominable gastronomic choices, then rushing about in the car all afternoon while he was licking his own snot off his upper lip the following is probably not all that surprising.
I had corralled the kids into the line at Panera, and Jx started coughing. Pretty bad. People were starting to stare. I was just rooting about in the diaper bag for a wet wipe when he up-chucked..... the ENTIRE EIGHT OUNCES of chocolate pediasure. And, trying to be as unobtrusive as one may when your 2-year-old is a fountain of rancid, sweet, overprocessed diary in the middle of a restaraunt, I pretty much contained all of the vomit to the space between him and myself while I maneuvered outside. Then I had to stand there, dripping, yes DRIPPING vomit and milk curds trying to convince Ry to get out of line and leave the restaraunt with me. She had been looking forward to that bread bowl all day, and here she was, that golden orb of carbs filled with chickennoodly goodness within reach.... but Mom made her leave. It's very sad. We walked back to the car with screaming 2-year-old and quietly crying 5 year-old and bread-bowl dreams crumbling with every step. I finally got back to the car, stripped Jx down to his pullup and gave him a quick wet-wipe bath in the middle of the parking lot and changed him into the obligatory spare outfit from the diaper bag, strapped both quietly weeping preschoolers into carseats and was rooting about for a towel to drape over my torso as to prevent the copious vomit from seeping into the seatbelt (although, this was my husband's car... )when I had a flash of genius - why not just call in an order from my cell phone, then grab a change of clothes from the old navy, zip through the to-go counter at Panera and re-convene to home with our breadbowls - thereby minimizing any furthur trauma to fellow restaraunteers from my attempts to corral a now-febrile 2 year old for the duration of dinner. So, I took the whole crew over to the clothing store. While getting out of the car, Jx made a break for the front seat (he likes to pretend to drive), and en route to the driver’s seat, managed to squish the styrofoam cup that was half full of warm blueberry smoothie, and doused the entire front seat and it’s contents with purple gooeyness (including a borrowed book, the day’s mail and his new “clean” outfit. Oh, well, at least it smelled better than his other one. So we headed into the Old Navy, where Jx promptly began to race through the aisles, grab stacks of tshirts, laugh maniacally and throw them to the floor. I managed to grab the first shirt and pants that looked remotely my size (Yup, anyone interested in a once-worn orange tank top? It looks terrible on me), and turned toward the check out when I realized that Jackson had gone missing (all the while, Ry is trailing behind, trying her best to be helpful and not to cry). I managed to follow the trail of tousled clothes, turned heads and raised eyebrows to find Jx sprinting through the pre-teen collection, I hoisted him in one arm, gathered my purchases in the other and made for the checkout. By the time I got there, Jx had squirmed out of my grasp and was alternately dangling from my grasp by one arm or sprawled on the floor, pinned between my feet (while Ry helpfully pointed out “um, Mommy, why are you standing on Jx?”) I have no clue what the salesperson thought of this crazed, frazzled mom that was doused with a large quantity of moist, speckled brown substance on her white shirt and bluejeans - and honestly I probably don't want to know. We gathered our purchases, and reconvened to the bathroom to change and wipe-down, then wrestled everyone out of the store, back into the car and over towards the Panera to pick up our bread bowls.
As I walked in the door at Panera, I hoped no one would recognize us from our previous visit, and made straight for the counter marked "phone oder pick-up". After finally catching someone's eye and asking for my order, she picked up the bag and said, "Oh, here it is, but you have to go stand in the "place your order" line - and pointed with one crooked, long bony finger to the line extending from the cash registers almost out the door. "Really" I asked. "For a phone order?"
Really
Now, this is a BUSY Panera, it's a tourist town, it's a Friday night, I KNEW this line would be horrendous. That's why I called ahead. But no. I got into the BACK of this line and waited 10-15 more minutes with a febrile, screaming 2 year old (who was taking a swing at any passerby who got too close) and a quiet, wide-eyed 5yearold (who knows mom's being pushed to the edge and is loosing it). As we waited longer and longer, and slowly inched up to the front, I am ashamed to admit that I started crying. Now, I generally consider myself a strong woman. I made it through medical school. I was in the military. I run marathons. I've even broken my arm snowboarding and walked myself down the mountain (toting my snowboard) and into the urgent care center at the bottom, shedding nary a tear. And yet, there I was, hopping mad and crying in Panera's. I mean, Really. Who the heck has people call in an order, then have them show up and make them wait behind all the other people staring up at the “You pick 2” menu, gaping open-mouthed saying “Um, Ah, gee”....... before giving them their already prepared food? The whole reason why anyone calls ahead is to avoid standing with 2 sick kids, smelling of vomit and crying in the middle of a restaraunt.
I mentioned this to the guy behind the counter, and he seemed less than interested. But I must have flustered the guy, because I got out to the car, buckled everyone in and then thought "I bet they forgot Ry's cookie (she's only allowed one dessert a day, and had foregone a blueberry smoothie after piano in dreams of getting a chocolate chip cookie after dinner... no cookie would have meant a lot of tears) Sure enough, through all my tears I was able to discern that they had, indeed, forgotten the cookie.
SO, I unbuckled everyone, and traipsed back inside, with reciept in-hand to claim the errant cookie.
To the guys credit, he offered me 2 cookies instead of the one he'd forgotten. Nice try, but I'm many years beyond the point where I can be cajoled with cookies.
So, no thanks.
With one chocolate chip cookie, and 2 kids in tow, I headed BACK out to the car, buckled everyone in AGAIN, and headed home. On the way I had to have a serious discussion with Ry about how sorry I was to have lost my patience, and that I wish I could have been as patient as she had been.... and that lo, we would NEVER EVER go back to Panera again. She had a little trouble adjusting to it at first, but after about 30 seconds said "you're right Mommy, I don't want to do that EVER again. I'm sorry I wanted to go there, I didn't know that would happen (Sniff)"
What a sweet girl!
Just then, as we were almost back over the toll bridge on the way home, I realized what else was missing from the to-go bag...
bread bowls.
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