Last in the Rat Race

I’m turning myself in for Mother of the Year based on the last 36 hours. Two stories – either of which could actually result in a call from DFS.

Award #1 – Teaching the Lesson of Dining Out

Saturday night Mike has the idea to go back to Acero in Maplewood. OMG, just the word and I’m salivating. Fantastic food. Small but plentiful, flavorful Mediterranean Italian courses served under low light with great wine.

What to do with Kate?

“Take her,” he says. “We’ll sit outside. It’ll be fine.”

With the flash of extrovert, I call our neighbor who’s wife is throwing a cocktail party for a bunch of girlfriends. We’re all good friends and given his options, he’s game for joining us. So now, we three adults are off with a three year old for a lovely meal. In public. No kids menu. You can see where this is going. What I saw laid out before us… Did I mention that our neighbor, while he really likes Kate, doesn’t really like kids? I mean, not AT ALL?

I panic and begin to run around the house collecting coloring books and markers. Anything that might entertain Kate long enough for the rest of us to enjoy our 4 course meal. Then my eyes catch the reflection of the screen. The little black box is nearly screaming “TAKE ME!” I’m a genius. Two weeks ago, I loaded WALL-e on our iPod. I snatch it up, grab the headphones and shove it all down in my purse with the markers.

Ten minutes into our evening out, Kate has sampled the bread, played with the olive oil, nearly knocked over her water and is regaling us with tales of the string ray exhibit at the zoo. Again. Out came the iPod and on went the earphones. I love my child. LOVE my child, but fine dining and Kate are not yet closely aligned. So, many of you will say that you have to start somewhere. Teach her to sit properly at a table in a restaurant. We are working on that. Really we are. But for that night, with that food, WALL-e was her dining companion.

And we enjoyed our adult night out.

Award #2 – Teaching Communication

Kate and I are biking to school/work fairly regularly now. At major intersections, the kind with stop lights, I’m careful to cross only when we have the WALK sign… An even more important lesson as we’re generally on the sidewalk at these intersections. (I know, I know… Share the Road and all that rot, but it’s my KID! I’m not risking her life to make a point to the countless careless STL drivers who DON’T Share the Road!)

We have a bit of a system at the intersection. I get us lined up to cross, stop and hold the bike steady. More often than not, we’ll have time for Kate to get off her bike and push the button requesting the WALK signal. It works great – she LOVES to push buttons and I’m saved the hassle of getting off the bike and pushing it myself.

This morning was no different. At Big Bend and Forest Park Parkway, she hopped off and pushed the button.

At Lindel and Skinker, we pulled up and I was right at the button, so I pushed it. The light was ready to turn anyway, so I tried to convince Kate that she didn’t need to push the button. “I already pushed it and the light is about the change! Ready? Here we go!” She’s chatting away, it’s loud with the morning rush, and I push off to cross the street.

As I’m crossing – riding – I hear a cacophony of horns. (If ever there was a time to use the word “cacophony” this was it!) Blaring, blasting and rapidly tooting. As we were on the sidewalk, I wasn’t too worried, but still I wondered who the poor driver was that caused the ruckus. Didn’t see anything, and just as I’m getting ready to cross the next part of the intersection, a car blows by, still honking, with a woman leaning out the window.

“YOUR KID IS BACK THERE!” she yells, pointing back the way I’d come.

Holy shit.

I stop, turn around, and see Kate.

She’s right there, at the light, pushing the button.