A la prochaine Chef Chuck

Sigh.  I just clicked the cancel button for my dinner reservation at Le Bremner Restaurant in Montreal.  Feel free to take it – 6pm Friday May 10.  It is supposed to be “ahhhhmaaazing”.  Here at home, we love Chef Chuck Hughes.  We watch his show.  We cook from his book.  We may even have a celebrity crush on him.  And by we, I am referring to my girls.  (And myself.) 

I’m fortunate in that my girls will pretty much try anything.  R is acting a bit more like a typical kid due to the influence of her peers (why, oh, why didn’t I homeschool?!) by having an exaggerated reaction to things she doesn’t like.  But R’s version of an exaggerated reaction is probably quite subdued compared to most.  And there is very little she doesn’t like in terms of food.  In fact, all three girls are growing quite adventurous in their tastes.  Add to that, the excitement of being in Chuck’s restaurant, being in Montreal, getting all-fancy…the evening holds the promise of fabulous memory-making!

The reality is, while our recent dinner at Chef Lynn Crawford’s Ruby WatchCo was a huge success in terms of a family dining experience – my girls dressed up, they were excited, they stayed put, they loved the food, they got to meet the chef!! – it was a long night for the littlest one.  Baby C, who will continue to be referred to as such until she actually stands up and starts walking which should be any day now, loves food but is really not a fan of being constrained in a highchair with only a spoon to play with.  I completely dropped the ball by not packing anything else for her to play with.  While this did save Mark from having to play a 90 minute game of  “Uh oh I dropped that.  Will you please pick it up Daddy?”.  It also resulted in her becoming bored.  Thankfully, she allowed Mark to distract her with people watching, And with a bedtime of 7pm but a dinner reservation of 6pm we were racing the clock as it was.  Except.  It’s kinda hard to race a clock in a busy restaurant serving three courses.  Three delicious, melt in your mouth, divine courses.  Three courses that they happily served up free to my children and as soon as they came off the line.  The last course being a scrumptious butterscotch pudding they put a candle in L’s birthday. 

I’m fairly certain, a multi-course meal at Le Bremner is going to take more than an hour.  Add to that, the fact that we will have been wandering around the old city all day, I doubt very much Baby C will take kindly to being strapped into a high chair after being strapped into a stroller (again – learn to walk!). I don’t want to race through a meal at Le Bremner.  I don’t want to watch Mark stalk off with Baby C under his arm, telling me “It’s fine.” When it really isn’t, as he has to abandon his meal and go back to our hotel in Montreal.  That would not be such a fabulous memory. 

So instead, we will lower our dining standards, not to accommodate their palate or but rather the temperament of our youngest because no one wants to drop serious coin on a meal they have to rush through.  Or, one I spill all over myself as not so little Baby C breastfeeds at the table.  On the other hand, Mark thinks maybe we'd get to meet the chef once word got around that I was flashing serious boob. 

A la prochaine Chef Chuck! 

Minor rituals, major pain in the...

My partner Mark has been a parent ten years longer then I have. And as a result his patience with certain rituals and routines of parenting is starting to wear thin. Don't get me wrong, he is a fully committed awesome Dad who just organized a freaking fabulous Robot themed birthday party for L. In fact, the extent to which he is a great dad leads me to whining on occasion that "one more wouldn't hurt". So not going to happen. Here is a list of "last time ever":

-maternity & newborn photo shoots. Mark has stated that he is far too old to be lying on the floor dressed all in black while trying to seduce the camera with his sultry good looks and look like a devoted daddy to be at the same time. He is also convinced that his forearm strength is weakening and if he had to balance one more baby in the "hanging tree branch" pose he would drop her.
-cleaning around a newborns umbilical cord stump. I think just the fact that he has to refer to something on his child as a stump adds to the look of mild revulsion on his face at the not so sweet smelling spot. Sidenote: he is a diaper changing dynamo and I rarely have to change a diaper when he's home. From day one. 

-incidentally he's biding his time to rip off the extra water resistant (read: baby pee catcher) cover on our mattress that makes it delightfully hot and extra difficult to put sheets on
-the dinner explosion. When our delightful girls eat, somehow 90% of their dinner ends up on the floor. We end up sweeping breadcrumbs even when there hasn't been a wheat product in the house.

-speaking of dinner, I'm fairly certain my partner would give up a minor digit or appendage for a dining room table in our...wait for it...dining room. Our dining room currently plays host to an all encompassing play area. Mark's deep resentment for this stems in the fact that there are toys in every room in he house but he can't even see me from where his seat is in the kitchen! So a dining room table where we could all sit and actually see each other is pretty f'n appealing.
-those f'n munsch books. The repetition. The redundancy. The idiot parents. The rude horrid children. I swear, there is a backyard bonfire in our future. Symbolic of course. He doesn't advocate book burning. But if he did, he'd use the starter fluid on that bear family book and throw the munsch ones on while jumping up and down gleefully
-And on a related note, constantly being interrupted, like every 3.7seconds when reading to his kids. By his kids.
-public bathrooms and snow suits
-oversized plastic crap pretending to be toys but are singing vehicles designed by grandmothers hoping to drive you insane so they can smother your kids and raise them better
-the zoo. He hates it.
-the diesel fuelled kiddie rides at the CNE
-public swimming pools and swimming lessons.( I'm not sure how he's going to get out if these until baby C is 14 and can bus it there.)Especially given that we have a pool so it's a life saving skill and also the only lesson they take. Mostly because we aren't millionaires but also because large crowds of parents incite rage in him that I get to deal with as "I'm fine! I'm not grumpy!" My understanding is this IS how introverts express their feelings. Particularly male ones. I admittedly don't like swimming lessons either, but for myself, because it means I have to shave my legs and not wax them. TMI, right? Sorry (not really).

In all fairness, I feel like I should reveal some of the rituals as a mama I can't wait to be done with ( and maybe this will help me get over wishing we could have more babies. We can't.):

-nipple biting. I don't care what Dr.Newman; Dr.Sears; and any other doctor, midwife, or lactation consultant has to say, babies do bite when they are nursing. Repeatedly, hard, despite all preventive and concurrent actions taken. With or without a full breast or fast or slow letdown. With of without your undivided attention. Repeatedly. In anger. Breaking skin! 

You know, after that one solid example, I feel like the rest fade in comparison to the threat of scarred boobs.