Once again we had another restaurant invitation to a totally inappropriate site for a soon-to-be-4-year-old. Fortunately, my mother-in-law reserved one of the back rooms, so it actually worked out pretty well. This time I came prepared with various distractions for Vaughn to keep him from using the table as a trampoline, but let's face it, coloring can only enrapture a preschooler for so long. Certainly, not long enough to make it through an adult dining experience. At the very end, Vaughn decides he's had enough and thinks it is a very good idea indeed to go out and meet the people. So, he makes a mad dash out to the dimly lit, very populated, intimate main dining area. Once he catches a glimpse of me in the Crouching Tiger position, he screams, "You can't catch me!" Oh, the game is on.
We enter into our Monday night football moves, weaving between tables and astonished looking diners, and I tackle him, now kicking and screaming (him not me). Trying to maintain what little composure I have, I kneel down into the "I'm-now-going-to-reason-with-you-you-little-maniacal banshee" posture, all the while gritting my teeth so hard, I know at any moment they will shatter, sprinkling Vaughn with little shards of sparkling white enamel.
After the hissing of many threats, I calmly escort him back into the room full of family members (cousins, grandmother, aunt and uncle) at which point Vaughn (arms crossed and in a very huffy tone) loudly announces, "I'm not very happy with your behavior, Mommy."
Of course everyone thought this was very cute and entertaining, as my blood pressure peaked and my head exploded.
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