A Thank You Note; An Apology Letter

My last 48 hours or so of checking Blogger has me walking around my apartment like this

 

though not with that body and not in that dress. I am so grateful to Kate and Grace for linking me, and am fully aware that relinking them right now is slightly tautological because aside from the 5-6 friends and family members I've persuaded to read this blog, everyone else is here because of one or the other of them. My blog traffic went from the looking like the CA-118 to the I-405 in the span of a few hours! (a little LA humor for Kate) I also must give a shout-out to my bestie Meg for introducing me to the two of those fine ladies (the former in person, the latter in....internet). What? Meg's name isn't clickable?! I KNOW! She hasn't launched her blog yet and I'm getting all KINDS of impatient. The suspense is upsetting me.

I hear the orchestra playing my exit music so this concludes my acceptance speech...and now I'll commence with the penitential portion.

Dear Frazzled Couple attempting a Public Meal with Hellion Child,

I'm deeply sorry. Unbeknownst - or perhaps extremely beknownst - to you, I have been judging you my whole life. You've suffered my disdain, my annoyed looks in your direction, my indiscreet gossip about you with my dinner partner. In my thick skull I was thinking, "Those parents are so inconsiderate for making an entire restaurant endure their brat's tantrum." or "Gosh those parents must not discipline that child at all." or "Man I would spank that kid."

Please forgive me, mea culpa. There is an off chance that your child is a brat and you are overindulgent parents. Or perhaps, as has recently happened to my husband and I, you had been used to taking your child out and seeing this in the high chair next to you

RAVIOLI. MY FAVORITE.

But an unexpected and undesirable turn of events has occurred for no immediately apparent reason. Molars? Maybe. A more discerning palate? Unlikely. Anyway, our last two meals out with our child have been unmitigated disasters. I look around me and recognize my former looks of contempt and scorn in our table neighbors. On our family date last night to the neighborhood Irish restaurant and pub (which was blessedly noisy with the booming dinner rush) Sean and I took turns escorting a writhing, twisting, grunting, and completely unmanageable Jordan outside while threatening her through gritted teeth with indefinite time-outs. During the last five minutes of our meal we made the too-late discovery that ranch dressing is the Jordan-Whisperer and a single fry sufficed as the medium to spoon ranch from cup to mouth repeatedly. Yeah I know. Ew.

I'm pretty sure I'm not an overindulgent parent. Though admittedly I can't vouch for Sean. But Jordan does not get spoiled by my hand. Besides, up until a month ago Jordan was nothing short of pleased as punch to be taken anywhere and given an apple wedge to, while I went about my date with my husband. Not so now. Not so. Sean and I agreed last night (in passing each other on our turns in and out of the restaurant) that we will have to discuss and execute a discipline regimen for the midget. Stat.

To conclude, I offer my sincerest apology to you, frazzled parents, and would like to inform you that I too have joined your legions. Sean and I have decided to beat the system though, and you can too! Our future public meals will be sans Jordan (c/o babysitter) until she sees fit to act like a grown up.

Warm Regards,

Mistaken & Ashamed