The reabsorption process

We had just been out to dinner and drank a gallon of lemon water but because it is so dang hot outside, the body quickly absorbs it. Feeling sated and believing the evening is over, the decision to wait to use any "facilities" is pushed to the back of the mind and can wait until arriving back to the homestead 5 miles away.

  On the way home, there is the favored shopping store, declaring marvelous sales, and savings and my date, Mr. Man, suggests we stop there . Disbelieving he has even suggested this date add on, I take him up on it before he changes his mind , and also wondering what the catch is. . . he abhors home décor stores and floral arrangements.

Happily shopping and pushing my empty cart, looking very hard down every aisle to find something to  fill it. Nothing. Then I discover a 90% off aisle and spot the perfect accent. A must have. How inconvenient that now I need to use the bathroom!  No problem. This store has a lovely one and I head that way, only to find the entry to the hallway where its located barricaded with a sign that prohibits passage due to some sort of water problem and cleanup is in progress.

Not alone in the quest for the bathroom, there is a general milling around the 3 foot high barricade and signage with mumblings of varied desperations and concerns. I returned to the sale aisle to basket my purchases, and become determined to absorb my bladder contents. Mr. Man  also bumps into  the barricade,  finding need of the men's room. He reports back to me that the store is closing in 7 minutes and it's doubtful the barricade to the restrooms will be removed. There's no time to make my purchase and use the restroom. I double up the reabsorption process. Where has Mr. Man gone?  We need to check out and get home ASAP. He's getting good at the disappearing act.

  I believe he led the whoop and leaps over the barricade. It began with him and then another and then another, channeling their inner track  star and become hurdlers with a mission. Crying children are held up in the face of the store manager so the barricade will be slid aside and allow the people access to the restrooms. The managers' grim faces decide to remove it before somebody jumps over and falls, causing extensive paper work and delay in closing the store and going home!  Dang the agility of the desperate!
  Standing in line, determined to win my own bladder battle, Mr. Man reappears, smug and happy that he has led the barricade revolt and gained access to the Men's room, which is also doubling as a women's room.  "The barricade is now removed". Too late for me. I've made my choice and I'm not leaving without my super deals.
 . The store shuts off its lights, locks it doors and firmly pushes us to exit--- permanently.
  In the car, Mr. Man suggests that we go to a concert in the park, 5 miles in the opposite direction of home. Now that he has taken care of his  "business" he's feeling generous to extend the date into a late evening.  MY teeth are floating. I'm doubtful I can even make it to the house. A concert? Forget it!
Made it home just in time. Which just proves. . .  there is no place like home!

Kiddie day at the Lazy Dog Cafe

It was Kiddie day at the Lazy Dog Café!

We were there on a Sunday for Linner. . . late lunch/early dinner. As we entered, the place is busy but not too crowded and we're seated right away. Walking to our table, we pass a group just packing up to leave. A young mother , her friend and a waitress are crawling under the grouping of tables, attempting to wrangle the escaped infant out into the open for capture. The baby is chortling in delight, and enjoying its freedom until it was distracted by a french-frie  on the floor.

As soon as we're seated, Mr. Man excuses himself to wash his hands. When he gets back he comments that there is a  child playing  dead on the floor across the aisle. He had to step over him and assured the mother he would not stomp on the kid. Here's a thought. . . . maybe restrain your childs movements to the table area. I head to the restroom to wash my hands and sure enough, there is the kid, rolling back and forth on the floor, and kicking at his chair in defiance. Hard not to laugh at this display because he's trying to roll toward the door inconspicuously and hasn't found the escape route yet.

We are thoroughly enjoying our linner and in comes a family of four which includes mom, dad, baby and preschooler and sit next to us.  Obviously, it is past nap time, dinner time, happy time. The crying and kicking began immediately. Mom and Dad are bickering about who's turn it is to time out with the preschooler. Mom wins, pulling out the "get out of jail free card" by breast feeding the baby.

Dad takes kicker/screamer to the foyer where the kids fury is echoed in the vaulted ceiling.




Don't misunderstand me. I love children. I delight in them. I've HAD them and been there, done that! We just stopped going out to dinner with ours when they got to the terrible two's and three's . It wasn't fun for any of us. I sympathize with these parents. They're not sure of what to do with the child out of control. You can't beat them or gag them = jail time. Hoping a hole opens up and swallows you all in is not going to happen and the magical fairy dust to calm them down and act civilized just doesn't exist.






The children were our topic of conversation and a walk down memory lane. The screaming from the foyer didn't really bother me. Crying in frustration and temper tantrums seem to be the calling card of most little ones forced into sitting quietly and acting as if they were adults in public places.


It was a happy ending for all .




The mom of the screamer finally feels bad and orders dad a big gin and tonic. She takes it out to him in the lobby then returns to the table to start eating. I applaude dads steadfastness. He isn't giving in to the tantrum and they are sitting there until it stops and quiet is achieved and the screaming has already dwindled to an occasional sob with gulp.
The rolling chair kicker was given an entire curved booth to roll around in as long as he stayed off of the floor and stopped kicking.

The crawl away infant was caught, restrained by mommy and never had the chance to eat that floor frie.

Mr. Man and I enjoyed our schnitzel  and slaw, and the Lazy Dog Café still ranks high for our restaurant favorites.