Solo Mother

Still unpacking (or, why we went out to dinner tonight)

by christina on April 12th, 2008

I love our new home. It’s in walking distance to everything, including a beautiful Whole Foods. My kid, being the urban socialite he is, enjoys walking to the grocery store, sampling the exotic cheeses and fruits carefully sliced and presented with toothpicks. He tries to convince me to buy breakfast cereals because there might be toys in them, and doesn’t complain too much when I tell him we don’t eat that kind of cereal. He has been trying so hard to adjust to all these new patterns in his life. He’s pretty neat.

Which is why, when he came to the front door, ready for our sally out into the wide world, wearing a bicycle helmet, the faded remnants of his tiger face paint from the Healthy Kid Day at the Y, and waving a chopstick in the air, I didn’t bat an eyelash. I simply opened the front door and off we went to the grocery store.

He wanted shrimp, but the bay scallops looked so good, we settled on those. We tasted an amazing, super aged white cheddar and some sort of wafer thin crispy bread. We bought an orange cream soda to share after we checked out. The cashier lingered over our purchases, taking the opportunity to get him talking more. We sat at a table and shared our soda… and then it occurred to me: we don’t have anywhere to eat.

Oh, sure the dining room table is in, but I don’t own any dining room chairs. The kitchen counter top is covered to all four corners with things that still need a home. “Hey, let’s go to the little restaurant and get dinner here, babe.”

The gentleman who took our order took an immediate liking to the Kid, and was chatting away with him in a manner that reminded me of no one so much as Chris Rock’s Rock’s character, Ruby DeeRhod (thanks, Phooey!), in Fifth Element. The Kid, still in helmet and face paint, goofed and prattled on, playing with a new set of chopsticks, getting the soy sauce ready…

“He’s just made himself right at home, hasn’t he?” the Ruby-esque man crooned.
“Oh, yeah. He’s a city boy, for sure,” I laughed, and then leaned over the counter, putting my hand to the side of my mouth. “Let me tell you something about that boy.” I paused. “He didn’t come over here on a bike. He doesn’t own a bicycle. I have no idea why he’s wearing that helmet.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve made someone laugh that hard.

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POSTED IN: family fun