memoirs of a tired restaurant mom.

15 Sep

Once upon a time it was 10pm and I knew where my children were. My 2-year-old daughter was running laps through the bar, around the dining room and into the server station over and over squealing in delight while discerning parents shook their head in disgust that someone has their child out so late. My 9-year-old stepson, on the other hand, was climbing up a tall waiter’s leg trying to get to his upper body so he could punch him repeatedly for not pouring him a Sprite. I was nowhere to be found, because I was hiding in the walk-in, “grocery shopping” for Rosh Hashanah, collecting ingredients for twice baked sweet potatoes such as butter and a martini. I spent a few extra minutes because it was the only quiet moment I’d had since 7am and it just felt so fucking delicious that I wanted it to last forever and ever and ever and ever, or until my babygirl pooped and I had to go change her diaper.

My day today consisted of my very first wedding at the restaurant. My finest planning contributions were peach bows (to match the peach-clad groom, as well as the rose petals which I was instructed to flutter onto the table) tied onto the tablecloths and a handcrafted Spotify mix consisting of the bride and groom’s specific specifications (Depeche Mode, Adele, Rolling Stones, 80s alternative, Twisted Sister and “user friendly” country music). It was so good that I sat in the middle of the room the whole time singing at the top of my lungs.

Then after the wedding was dinner service, which was a little disappointing because I had to expedite the window which meant my Saturday Night Cleavage was wasted on the kitchen staff instead of the customers (Vocab of the day – EXPEDITOR: if the kitchen were an orchestra, this is the conductor. See also: most important person in the entire world on a Saturday night, and in my particular case, the most attractive). Plus I got bangs, and nobody got the pleasure of complimenting me on how awesome they look.

Except Charlie, because he worked tonight, and he told me that I look like a cool mom and I was like “I KNOW!” and then we talked about tattoo ideas for a little while (new thought: heart shaped peace sign with wings but now I can’t figure out where that can possibly go because it for sure won’t fit on my finger and I want it to be visible to me because what’s the point of body art if you can’t see it? That’s like hanging a painting underneath your bed. It makes no sense). Then we chatted about how he flooded the bar the last time he bartended because he’s careless and irresponsible and was probably high on drugs and how we want to go to a lounge and eat good food and drink yummy mixologies. Then I told him that he’s the hottest guy I know because he’s been working out and starving himself lately. I don’t usually have a thing for Asians, especially Gay Asians but I’m making an exception for Charlie.

My stepkid had a lady friend come over to the restaurant for a playdate, so I set them up in the party room to watch Ghostbusters on the big TV. Next thing I knew they had the lights out completely and their shoes off. They had moved my fancy schmancy Ikea chairs from the office to the party room and were having a pillow fight. Then they ransacked the server station because they had heard a rumor about a hidden bag of M&Ms. Then they ate spaghetti and fell asleep googling cheap horse adoptions across the US.

Last but not least, my babygirl got dropped off, fresh off a day filled with ice cream, ice cream sandwiches and milkshakes with her Papa. My dad had loaded her up with so much sugar that the end result of running laps in a full restaurant was in no way shocking. I was a bit saddened to discover that she is now faster than me. Had I been wearing a sports bra and sneakers instead of a Saturday bra and high high high way too high for working 12 hours in a restaurant heels, perhaps the situation would have been different and I would have been able to catch her. But alas, that wasn’t the case and I looked like an asshole.

And the kids fell asleep in the car and I had to carry them in and I hit the cat with the door on my way in and may have broken her foot and they all lived happily ever after.

The end.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: