Mar 28 2007
And then she found a rock and hid under it for the rest of eternity
My darling hubsters called me on his way home from work yesterday to announce that I didn’t need to make dinner because he was taking us all OUT to dinner. In that moment, I really should have called the local mental institution and had him locked up because he was clearly going BATTY.
So, I got all the kids ready to go and even put on my new sassy jeans (yeah, I took back the shoes and got new jeans… so much for buying groceries, right?)
Well, as it turned out, Hubbadubba was taking us to dinner because he’d been given a gift certificate. It was to a Mexican restaurant in Orem, about half an hour away. There are, of course, approximately a billion Mexican restaurants in Utah, so we didn’t think anything of the fact that we’d never HEARD of this particular one.
We pulled up to the “restaurant” which was a little hole in the wall of a strip mall where everything was in Spanish. Everything.
As we were getting out of the car, Bubba peed his pants. With some pants, you can hide the wet spot. Bubba was not in those pants. He was in the pants that reward a little pee a with a great big wet spot. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I really had no other option than to take him in to the restaurant, wet spot and all.
We walk into the “restaurant” which had about 6 small tables set up, 4 of which were fully occupied by very burly, drunk, Hispanic men.
Let me pause here to say that I am not of those people who has a problem with Hispanics. At all. I did volunteer work in South America for a year and a half and I speak Spanish fluently.
However, in this situation, my little family of six felt pretty little, very young, and COPIOUSLY white.
And, of course, we had all eyes glued on us from the moment we walked in the door.
The menus? All in Spanish. I had to translate for Hubby and the kiddos. A waiter, who remarkably spoke pretty good English, came over to us and we ordered. It took forever, but eventually our order was in.
In the meantime, the kids were gorging themselves on the free chips and salsa. Scooby was in a high chair with no straps to keep him in, so he was climbing all over the table and throwing menus onthe floor, etc. I was working so hard to keep everyone and everything under control. I didn’t want to be one of “those moms” who goes to a nice restaurant and sits back while the kids turn it into a disaster area. Fortunately, this WASN’T a nice restaurant. Still, I was determined to keep the kids under control. Then the baby started screaming. Hubby picked him up and discovered a total diaper blow out. Again, I had no handy change of clothes, so now I had one pee-soaked child and one screaming poop-soaked baby. And then Scooby, climbing out of his high chair, grabbed the salsa and guzzled it. What do you suppose he did next? Well, he screamed his brains out, of course, because the salsa was HOT.
Our waiter walked by, and Hubby decided to ask what he should have asked in the first place, which was, do they take this gift certificate. The waiter looks at it and said, “No.”
WHAT???
They don’t take gift certificates anymore because of gift certificate fraud. Too many copies. Hubby points out all the security seals on this particular gift certificate–watermarks, security seals, etc. in an attempt to prove that this one was NOT a copy. The waiter was unimpressed. “No, we do not take any gift certificates.” “Well, then we won’t be eating here,” Hubby announces. The waiter shrugs and says, “okay!”
I nearly died. Really. I think my poor, pathetic life began flashing before my eyes.
So we loaded up the screaming, poopy baby in his carseat, grabbed the screaming Scooby out of his high chair and told Bubba and Fluffy to head to the door. “NO!!!” they yelled, almost (but not quite) in unison.
“Excuse me?”
And now, in all-out tantrum mode, “NO!!! WE’RE NOT LEAVING!!!! WE’RE SO HUNGRY!!!”
We grabbed them and pulled them out the door, leaving our blurry-eyed, burly Mexican friends to stare at each other in awe and say, “what in the Giminy Christmas was THAT???”
Indeed. What WAS that?
So, we went to Taco Bell, where we didn’t look like freaks at all, in comparison…
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LOL! What a nightmare that must have been… They should have had to honor the gift certificate - but I’ll bet the food at taco bell was probably better anyway…
I seriously can’t believe that you ever attempt to go ANYWHERE!!! I’m duly horrified, and in awe of your sanity.
I’m “of mexican heritage” and mexican restaurants scare me. So do chinese ones. Not PEOPLE, just their restaurants.
Your tales of pants wetting have me fearing the summer. Sunshine can go to the bathroom all by herself (She’s a big kid now), no problems at all until…summer time. Then she just CAN’T stop playing to come home and pee, so she goes in her pants. Surely reeking of urine is better than parking your bike for a couple minutes, right?? She’s six this year, so **hopefully** it won’t happen again.
(Btw, forgot to mention that your kids are absolutely adorable!)
Thanks, butrfly! Every once in a while we need reminders that they really ARE adorable, right? Hahaha.
You’re right, undercover angel, the food probably WAS better. Real Mexican food might have been, uh, um, too authentic for my kids! (And maybe for me too!)
Hey there! I am just wondering who would give your husband that gift certificate? What a nightmare. But hey, at least you looked good with your jeans on!
I like your blog, it looks great and undercover angel is the best!
Oh, my word. Maybe someday I’ll post the story of my three-year-old (now 13) throwing up copiously in the Sacrament Meeting of the very upscale Singles Ward of which my husband had just been called to be Bishop. Oh, the horror. All that to say–I can relate.