Six Years, Sushi and Soiled Pants

Six Years

Man, you know what really throws the ol' monkey wrench into an anniversary's metaphorical gears?

F***ing children.

You may or not be the sort of person who heeds advice from Yours Truly (I'd hope you are, seeing how I've given you all so many nuggets of wisdom over the years), but please listen to me when I tell you this:

If you're planning on going out to dinner for your anniversary, do NOT bring your kids along!

And if, for whatever reason, you find yourself as stuck without any other option (or are just plain stupid, if the case may be), then at least choose a restaurant that is remotely kid-friendly.  Where nobody notices your kids climbing all over the back of their booth, the lights are dim, the music is loud, and they offer age-appropriate food such as chicken fingers, french fries, and chocolate milk. . .

. . . and not, say, sushi.

(don't bring kids.)

Yeah, sushi.  We're that dumb, folks.  Who would've though that a 2 year old and a 4 year old might find qualms with a quiet little sushi restaurant, right?  We found a well-rated sushi restaurant right around the corner of our house called Shiso Sushi, and deluded ourselves enough into the notion that 'the kids would be fine.'

Nothing screams 'time bomb' moreso than two little kids in a quiet sushi restaurant.

Great sushi, by the way, if you're ever in the area.

We went during Shiso's happy hour, which was cool because it meant sushi rolls (and drinks!) were cheaper than usual.  We decided to order the girls a big-ass plate of chicken and fried rice, seeing how they looked at the sushi and figuratively(Alayna) - and literally (Abby) - shat their pants.

Not surprisingly, the girls shied away from the rice as if the meal itself were infected with the Black Death.

We sat along the front window, at the middle table.  Check for damage.

As far as our food was concerned, the sushi was great and the saki was strong.  This spells a winner in my book.  Alas, since we were smart enough to drag our kids along with us to our anniversary dinner, Kris and I were forced to take turns trying to force-feed Abby on our laps while simultaneously appeasing the bored-to-tears and progressively-whining-louder Cannonball.

That's how we roll.

Long story short, we were forced to end our rushed and not-as-enjoyable-as-it-should've-been meal, as Kris had to carry Abby out of the restaurant kicking and screaming.  After packing up 99% of the girls' entree into a styrofoam box and paying for the rest, we decided to swing over to Target to check out the Halloween department.

. . . but at least the sky was pretty.

Judy Garland.

As stated before, Alayna's going as Judy Garland and Abby as Strawberry Shortcake.  Perhaps a bit early for costume-shopping - perhaps you think we're weirdos.  Who cares what you think, sir.  We try to pounce on the whole 'holiday' thing as early as possible; just as with Christmas, if you know what you want ahead of time, and buy it well before the mass hordes of idiots start clogging up the stores, you are guaranteed to spare yourself serious Halloween-ish headaches down the road.


Right?  Right. 

(Both kids want me to go as a pirate. We'll see.)

So, Kris has to dress up for her work, and - at Alayna's bequest - decided to throw together a witch costume.  We hit up our neighborhood Salvation Army store earlier in the day to scrounge up costume pieces and accessories, and while we were there she managed to secure a black, knee-length gown that ended up working out perfectly for her costume.


Me?  I found this:

For $4, I wasn't about to let this beauty go.  It's a large, hand-painted marina hat/coat rack.  Needless to say, it's hanging in our hallway now.

Anyway, back to Target.  The girls were growing tired by the time we were cruising around the Halloween section, and it was only a matter of time before we'd have to face-off with another meltdown.  As you can see from the pictures, we were constantly throwing crap into the cart to keep them entertained/distracted/subdued:

 

 

Target employees, clueless as to what's about to happen to their floor.

Upon check-out, it was Kris' turn to drag a kicking and screaming child out to the car; only this time it was Alayna.  After I, once again, paid for our items, Abby and I began making our way out of the store. 

Then, suddenly disaster struck.

Abby stopped in her tracks, and starts to whimper frantically.  As I turn around to inquire into the hold up, urine starts splattering out from her shorts (as Kris, in her infinite wisdom, neglected to put a diaper on the child). 

Urine clean-up?  Sounds awesome.

Obviously not in the mood to wait for a HAZMAT crew to assemble, and having to deal with a frenzied toddler besides, I scooped up the child underarm and raced out of the front doors without saying anything to anyone.  I'm sure the surveillance video looks hilarious.

Hopefully nobody slipped on my kid's piss and hurt themselves.

So, to summarize: when celebrating anniversaries, have low expectations, be flexible, and - FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY - leave the damn kids at home.

Anniversary. Post-Bedtime.

- Brian