Erma on Dining Out

Today’s Erma-ism: “The age of your children is a key factor in how quickly you are served in a restaurant. We once had a waiter in Canada who said, ‘Could I get you your check?’ and we answered, ‘How about the menu first?’”

I think she’s got something there, but I’d take it a step further. The quality of any dining out experience is directly proportional to the rambunctious tendencies of your children. At least in our case.

Exhibit A: The Mexican Restaurant.

Monkey Boy uses a wheelchair due to his autism. It’s not that he can’t walk, it’s that he needs it for safety. Without it, he’s been known to run into the street, jump into bodies of water, or climb in inappropriate places. It’s been part of his ongoing therapy to try to get him to the point where he doesn’t need to use the wheelchair in public places anymore.

Well, on this particular occasion, the family took Monkey Boy to the Mexican restaurant without his wheelchair, just to see how he would handle it. It didn’t go well. He wriggled and squirmed right out of his chair, with one of us always in pursuit. At one point, Monkey Boy got away from us and darted right into the kitchen of the restaurant!

Exhibit B: The Exploding Chicken Incident.

We were on a medical trip for Monkey Boy and we had stopped at a modest sit-down restaurant. That was our first mistake. The four of us were seated around a small round table. As we waited for our meal, Monkey Boy impatiently thrashed around, bumping the table and sloshing water from our glasses. He doesn’t do waiting well.

The meal finally came and Monkey Boy got even more rowdy. He evidently had some sort of personal vendetta against the contents of his dinner, because things went flying. It looked like there had been an unfortunate meeting between a chicken platter and a homemade explosive device, for there, scattered all across the dining room, were chunks of meat from Monkey Boy’s plate. Waiters dodged and diners ducked. We should have brought them flak jackets.

Had the servers at either of these restaurants known what was descending on them as we walked in the door, we probably would have been handed a check before a menu, too.

We’ve become proficient apologizers and big tippers. We’ve also learned to eat take-out in the car.

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Slap Happy

We enjoy watching NCIS around here. The Man and DSguy walk around the house, affectionately “Gibbs-slapping” each other upside the back of the head. Monkey Boy has gotten in on the NCIS action, too.

                                                

Now Monkey Boy is non-verbal, but does sometimes come up with single words or close approximations. We noticed once that some of the things Monkey Boy was saying sounded really close to the names of some NCIS characters. He said things like happy (Abby), ma-gee (McGee), and something that resembled “Gibbs.” Do we think he was paying attention to NCIS? No, but that’s beside the point.

Figuring Monkey Boy was on a roll, The Man decided to go for a long shot. He introduced another character name, waiting to see if Monkey Boy would bite.

“DiNozzo,” The Man would say, hoping to cajole Monkey Boy into saying it. “DiNozzo. DiNozzo!”

Nothing.

He tried again. “DiNozzo…DiNozzo…DuhhhhNoooozzo!”

Monkey Boy finally popped his dad on the schnoz as if to say, “De nose is on your face!”

I think Monkey Boy just invented the “DiNozzo-slap.”

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Erma on Cooking

I love Erma Bombeck. She was truly an every-woman humorist. I love reading her takes on the day-to-day things of life, as she always knew how to see the funny in them. On occasion, I will share Erma quotes with you on this blog. Like today.

Today’s Erma-ism:

“When it comes to cooking, five years ago I felt guilty ‘just adding water.’ Now I want to bang the tube against the countertop and have a five-course meal pop out. If it comes with plastic silverware and a plate that self-destructs, all the better.”

Ain’t that the truth? Instant food, although not great for one’s health, is a busy mom’s best friend. If I had to cook everything from scratch, I fear my family would die of starvation. It’s not that I can’t cook, it’s that anything that takes more than 15 minutes or involves more than one course is asking for trouble. It’s hard enough to get a boxed side dish and a canned vegetable heated up without Monkey Boy getting into the raw ground beef that’s sitting in the skillet waiting to be browned.

It’s those convenience foods, like the biscuits in a tube that save my sorry gourmet-challenged butt.

The Man can’t stand those tubes. That “pop” noise that happens when the can is being opened freaks him out. Even if steak and lobster were popping out of that can, he wouldn’t want to be around for the unveiling. He leaves the job to me, the mighty can-hunter. Me kill biscuits.

I think Erma was on to something with those self-destructing plates. No washing dishes. What is it about my guys that they don’t rinse off their plates when they’re done eating? Don’t they know that not rinsing makes it exponentially harder to clean the gunk off the dishes later? I suppose I should be thankful that the dishes make it to the sink at all. Monkey Boy is learning to throw away what’s left on his plate when he’s finished, and sometimes the plate lands in the trash, too. That’s OK. He’s making progress. At least it’s off the table!

Maybe it’s time to make DSguy wash the dishes. We tried that once. He was a dishwasher with three speeds—slow, slower, and stop. I might be better off waiting for self-destructing plates to be invented. Either way, I’ll have a long wait on my hands.

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E, F, G

Hey! I’ve been on vacation, and now it’s time to play catch up. (Not ketchup. That is a fine condiment one uses on hot dogs.) I’ve missed two weeks of our From A 2 Z 4 U & Me meme, so without further mindless babbling…

E is for excitement! Vacation was full of excitement, of both the good and bad varieties. Good—we went to Disneyland! How much more exciting can you get? God blessed us with the opportunity to go see the Mouse. It was absolutely adorable watching Monkey Boy get kissed and loved on by Mickey. Monkey Boy was also fond of the fairies at Pixie Hollow. My boy is a bit of a flirt! DSguy was chosen for the Jedi Training Academy—the epitome of excitement! He got to fight Darth Maul and become a genuine Padawan. Awesome.


So what was the bad excitement? Gads. San Francisco drivers. They’re worse than LA drivers by a mile! The Man was driving through an intersection and ended up getting stuck there. A driver on a side street was put out with him for blocking his passage through, and so he hit the gas and sped toward our car full bore! He stopped just shy of hitting our driver’s side, where The Man and Monkey Boy were both seated. I just about jumped out of my skin! I’m sure the guy savored my reaction—that’s what he was after. I wanted to go for the jugular. What kind of a person threatens children?! Thankfully, God was in control, and though shaken, we were just fine.




F is for the FaithWriters US Conference next month. On August 12 and 13, a bunch of us crazy, fun-loving Christian writers will be descending on Livonia, Michigan for the time of our lives! If you love to write, please, check out the details here. There’s still time to sign up and join us!

G is for Good News. How about a little Christmas in July? In Luke 2:8-12 (NIV) it says,
“And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, ‘Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.’”

That little baby, Jesus Christ, is the source of all good things. Let us celebrate Him regardless of the time of year. Praise God, His Good News is for all year long!

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