Some People’s Kids or a Rant to My Former Self

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Prior to having children it was easy to scoff at the misbehaved hooligans you saw in restaurants and shopping centers. What were their parents thinking bringing them here, at dinner time, as if children need to be fed. They are ruining everyone else’s meal. And that child climbing on the clothing rack in the supermarket, where is the control? Does no one control these children? Egads, what is wrong with these parents. I tell you some people’s kids. Internal thoughts of your’s truly only a few years ago and admittedly even now but only in extreme cases. Fast forward about three years.  Today, I felt like that parent, the one who all the people are silently cursing in the restaurant for bringing havoc on their lunch. My lunch partner who is also a parent wasn’t even fazed sighting that he’s two and really you can’t expect much more. Yet his constant climbing from the booster to my lap, trying to get down and run around, yelling and banging silverware, spilling every drink in a 2 foot radius was enough to make me not want to venture to lunch again in the near future unless it involves fast, and I mean freaking speedy food, with little to no possible time between ordering and arrival. So why did I risk it, because the food previously mentioned that is “fast” is also often times the worst, so every now and then I like to test the limits and see if we can go somewhere with a little better food and a little slower delivery. Apparently, we cannot. So as I lugged my children away leaving an absolute disaster at the table because to attempt to clean it would have only offered more time for their destruction, I mentally apologized to each of the other patrons and hoped they would be a little more judicious in their complaints against my children than I have been about others in the past. Because really, some people’s kids. Only F%C$ now that’s my kid.

 

Unattended children sign at Squeeze Marfa

Unattended children sign at Squeeze Marfa (Photo credit: TheSeafarer)

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