The Dahl's Cafe(teria) Lonely Hearts Club

This morning Carter wanted to go to Dahl's for breakfast - one of his favorite things to do. I've always had a love/hate relationship with the place. There's so many old motherfuckers in there. They come every day. They're there as part of their daily social calendar. They're picky about the food and service they get and they don't tip. If they do tip, they don't tip a lot. They assume that those girls LIKE waiting on them. Then again, maybe they do.

An important aspect of the Dahl's Cafe(teria) experience is that no conversation is solely for the two people having it. Every sentence is spoken for the enjoyment/education of the masses gathered about. It's impossible to mind your own business. I'm not saying this is unique - I'm sure it's the same at lunch counters in grocery stores across the nation - it's just an observation. Said situation would not be so bad if the speaker didn't always happen to be such a complete idiot. "You know, three-quarters of the world's surface is water."

Another important aspect of breakfast at Dahl's Cafe(teria), at least for me, is running into my Great Aunt Natalie - also a regular. My Great Aunt Natalie is a bit of a nut. She wears false eyelashes and a wig and never recognizes you until you've been talking to her for about five minutes. Then she ALWAYS asks, "How's Grandma, honey?" I don't exist soley for myself. This morning, she dug a cookie out of her pocket that she had wrapped in a produce bag and gave it to Carter - all before she knew who he was or anything. That's OK, I guess, he had no idea who she was, either.

So Carter had pancakes. With syrup. That he carefully placed a drop of on each individual bite. So on my right is Carter the three (going-on-sixty-three) year old and on my left was Larry. Larry didn't introduce himself to me so much as he introduced himself to everyone - one painful proclamation at a time. He sits, the waitress comes over and he's immediatley on guard. he syas, "Tell the cook Larry wants his order up." She asks him to repeat his name. He becomes slightly agitated. He repeats himself. She asks, "Gary?" he says, "OK. I guess I'll have to go through the whole order with you." He's clearly put out to have to actually give the waitress his order. "It's a mug, a mug of hot water and a glass of cold water. It's that simple."

Now, the waitress isn't all that outspoken - she's a low talker and she's young, but I had to give her props for this one. "Your name is what?" "Larry." "Oh, OK." And she walks away to go tell the cook that Larry wants his order. This sets off a whole 'nother round of confusion as the cook is also new and doesn't know Larry. I'd go into that, but suffice it to say that 10 VERY painful minutes later my counter neighbor, Larry, got his order of two poached eggs, a biscuit (grilled, not toasted), hot tea, and cold water. Thank the Lord.

Purple Is The New Crazy

I actually returned to the library today with son in tow. Decided that I needed the damned books and decided that I was going to drive up and get them at the, well, drive-up window. Carter begged to go in and he promised to be good. He was. For the most part. He played on the computer and didn't freak out when it was time to get off. He did run away from me, but only half-assed. He wanted to do some things before he had to leave, so he was mad about going about getting them done - play with puppets, do butterfly puzzle, flop on beanbag chairs, go around and around bookcases until asked by librarian to stop, check out DVDs ("I'm looking..."), check out CDs ("here's a good one"...that I will randomly leave in a completely different place...), drag all the stuffed dog toys to the opposite side of the room because "this is where they live" and finally, dance on the lit-up glass flooring. All this in only 10 minutes.

Things only started to fray when we went to pick up my holds, pay the embarrassingly large fine of $16, pay for the DVDs we were checking out and check out Carter's new books. I forgot my library card, I didn't have any cash, they don't take plastic, and I didn't know a thing about getting my holds (they're shelved alphabetically and you're supposed to pick them up yourself; my librarian insisted on escorting me to the hold shelves and then to also insisted that she alone carry the books back to the desk for me). This was either the libraian's worst day or one of her best - I'm not sure if they enjoy helping people or not.

Somehow I made it through all of the above - OK, the librarian did everything and I just stood there, helpless. Meantime, Carter scooted around on his knees while pretending to be a puppy. I tried to reign him in while at the same time appear to be interested/participating in my check-out process. I did this by raising my eyebrows alot. I also sporatically dug through my purse in a fake attempt to find the library card I knew wasn't in it. Once I was nearly finished, Carter amazed me with the information that he had, with his hand and invisible red paint, painted the side of the check-out counter. That's cool. No. We can't leave yet, Mommy, because I need to paint it purple.

I Love My Life Some Days

The reason I started this blog wasn't to be read, necessarily, but basically, to just vent a little. Read back over it. And feel really dumb later. Here's the catalyst:

Yesterday, Carter lost his marbles at the library because they have a 20 minute time limit on the game computers (something three year olds not only grasp, but advocate) and it turned into a showdown out the back door (which is a very long way away from the kiddie computer area).

I put Carter in time out outside so I could hopefully at least go back in and pick up the textbooks I had on hold. Didn't happen. He told me that he was the grown up and that he wasn't going home with me. I said fine. He started crying and told me that he had his own car. My maturity beat out my feelings of head exploding, so I challenged him to go ahead and find his own way home. This made him cry more. "But I don't know how to start the car!" Exactly one hour later after a real time out and dinner, I felt stupid about the whole thing. If only I hadn't needed those damned books. Which I still don't have. The look on Carter's face when he thought he was destined to try to find his own way home makes me ashamed of myself.