Back in May, we had another lovely family photo session with the lovely Wendy of Blue Lily Photography. Our shoot was in Rock Creek Park in the early evening, so we decided to head into the city a little early and get dinner at our favorite pizza spot. We all got dressed up, spruced up, and made it to the restaurant just in time to beat the dinner rush and snag a big table in the back.
As soon as we sat down, I surveyed my dapperly dressed offspring and was like, oh, shit.
I'd had them all wear their nice collared shirts to dinner, and I'd brought zero back-up outfits in case of a spill or other disaster. And by "disaster," I mean "thing that basically happens every single meal of our lives, and is as predictable as the moon and the stars and U R AN IDIOT, AMY."
My children — Ezra and Ike in particular — rarely leave the dinner table looking like they need anything short of a good hosing off, or a go through the nearest carwash. They are messy, klutzy, dribbly eaters.
Sure, the shirts were all just random things I'd grabbed at Old Navy that day so we could be somewhat coordinated without being too matchy, but they were clean shirts. Collared shirts. Which means they were fancy shirts.
And they were now in mortal tomato-sauce-related peril. What in the world had I been thinking?
(I'd probably been thinking about what the hell happened to all my lipsticks, since I could only find one to wear that day and it wasn't even close to my best shade and the whole thing was irritating me to no end, because who is stealing all my lipsticks [IKE] and where are they ending up [NO IDEA]?)
By the time our food arrived the tables around us had filled up, and were absolutely, 100% convinced that I was a horrible, raving OCD lunatic who had no business raising children, because every other word out of my mouth was some snappish reminder to EAT OVER YOUR PLATE. EAT OVER YOUR PLATE! EZRA WATCH OUT FOR THE MILK DUDE YOUR ELBOW. EZRA WATCH OUT THAT MEATBALL IS GOING TO DRIP SAUCE OH MY GOD. EZRA USE A NAPKIN. NO NOT YOUR SHIRT NOT YOUR SHIRT NOTYOURSHIRT!
Also, my toddler was half-naked.
But at least once I took his shirt off, I mostly let him eat his pizza in peace.
The mighty sideeye I was getting from the neighboring tables got so noticeable that I finally leaned over and tried to explain. "We're getting nice pictures taken after this? And they're wearing...I forgot...I didn't think...yeah, I'm an idiot."
Luckily, everybody's clothing survived, and my obnoxious nagging didn't ruin anybody's mood.