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It was an eventful weekend at the Yeoman house! Mine was slightly extended since I stayed home from work Monday. I am battling some kind of hybrid cold/allergy/I don’t really know what the hell it is type of sickness, but more on that later. So many interesting things happened, and so many great thought-provoking conversations took place that I find myself with many potential blog topics this Tuesday morning. There may be so much to discuss about last weekend, that it stretches through the week! So, I’m going to call this series: Last Weekend.

Thanks to my amazing husband and all of his hard work, we recently came into a little bit of extra money. A little bump that allowed us to get caught up, catch our breath and splurge on a few things that we’ve gone without for a really long time. I got my hair done, and Mike got a massage. We also decided that we wanted to go out and have sushi.

All you can eat sushi is our go-to date night activity. The problem is that we haven’t had a date night since I was seven months pregnant, and when I was seven months pregnant I couldn’t eat sushi. So, we went to a movie at that time. I spent the entire night worried that I’d traumatized Truman by leaving him because he had cried when I left. Then I cried because I felt guilty; plus the movie was sad which added to the water works. Memorable date night? Yes. Because it was awesome? Not really. Anyway, Mike wanted sushi. I wanted sushi. Our weekend was packed and I didn’t really feel like setting up a sitter for next weekend or waiting that long to go, so we decided to just take the kids with us and go Monday night.

We have taken Truman out to eat a number of times. He is usually really good, but he is two after all. Waiting and being quiet are two of his least favorite activities, so restaurants can pose a challenge. Since Grant’s arrival, we have gone out a handful of times. Usually we make it quick, shoveling food into our mouths while staring at the car seat, willing the baby to stay asleep. Some meals have been great, others have not. Monday night, we didn’t care. We wanted sushi and we were going to risk it all.

Grant was sleeping when we arrived, Truman was in a good mood and ready to eat. We sat down and started with appetizers. I have eaten a lot of sushi and never had a problem, but I didn’t want to give Truman anything raw just in case this was the one time the salmon was swimming with parasites. The waitress brought our first appetizer out, poke salad. Raw tuna in sesame oil. Truman wanted it. “Dat! Dat!” He pointed enthusiastically and waggled his tongue at my salad. As I was searching for something that was not raw fish to feed him, the waitress brought a plate of wasabi and ginger. Truman zeroed in on it and pointed, “Dat! Dat!” I looked at Mike.

“Do you think he can eat ginger?” It is kind of spicy and I wasn’t entirely sure it was meant to be consumed in large amounts.

“Yeah, why not?” Mike answered. Good enough answer for me, I didn’t even Google it. I gave Truman a small piece and told him it might be hot, a word I knew he would recognize before spicy. He shoved it into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “More peeze!” We were off! He proceeded to eat an entire pile of ginger, all of the green onions in sesame oil from my bowl, five or six pieces of cooked hand rolls and avocado pieces from another appetizer.

Grant woke up about fifteen minutes into dinner and was hungry. I cradled and fed him with one arm, while attempting to use chopsticks with the other hand. Truman begged to “touchhhh!” Grant’s head, and managed to wipe sticky rice into his hair, as well as all over the arm of my sweater. I had no sooner passed Grant over the table to Mike so I could actually eat, when Truman started yelling, “Go potty! GO POTTY!” Ahh, the unmistakable aroma of diaper dirt. It always happens when we are out. Truman must enjoy pooping in public. I grabbed the wipes, a new diaper, and off we went. I somehow sensed it before I opened the door to the ladies’ room. There was not going to be a changing table. I turned on the light and confirmed my suspicion. I pulled down Truman’s overalls, loosened the diaper tabs and put him on the potty, then pulled the diaper off from behind him. How I managed to keep poop off of everyone and everything, I do not know. He did not go potty, but still insisted on sitting for five minutes, flushing, washing his hands and writhing around while I tried to put a new diaper on him without having to lay him on the floor. Getting a diaper tight and straight on a standing child is no easy feat. We were finally able to leave the restroom. I was sweating a little.

We returned to the table and Grant was fussy. Truman refused to get back into his highchair. I finally convinced him to sit down, but he had no interest in eating more. “All done Mama! We go. Go! Go-way, go home!” I took Grant from Mike so he could eat, and tried to get Truman to cheer up. Grant was still hungry so I latched him on again. Truman took the opportunity to begin playing with the blinds on the window next to him, staring me down while he did it. He knows that if he touches something he isn’t supposed to touch there is a good chance I will remove him from the area. I could see it right there in his beautiful, defiant eyes; he was trying hard to be removed from this no-longer fun sushi experience, and taken home. Home, where he is free to run around and yell as loud as he wants while not wearing pants. I was trying to breastfeed without flashing the entire restaurant and there were eight pieces of Big Island roll left, removal wasn’t going to happen.

“Here, have a little more Truman Guy.”
“NO!”
“Want some water?”
“NO!”
“Please stop touching the blinds!”
“NOOOO!”
“Here! Color me a picture!”
“NO NO NO NO NO…”
“Mike, the wheels are falling off. Eat fast.”

Mike ate three pieces of the roll and I passed the baby back over the table to him. I shoveled in the last three pieces and took the baby back. I buckled Grant into his seat, while trying to get Truman excited about washing his own face and hands with a wipey, which did not work. I finished with Grant and washed up Truman, now busy trying to stack his plate onto the other plates on the table, while repeating “Alllll done!” and shaking his head to avoid the wipey. Mike was flagging down the server for our bill when Truman turned up the volume. Before then, I don’t think any of the other patrons could hear us over the background music and the hum of other conversations. Now, we had some attention.

“Ok, I’m taking them out. Will you pay and bring the bag?” Mike said he would and I pulled Truman out of his highchair, picked up Grant in the carrier and started leading Truman by the hand towards the door. That’s when he began screaming, “GUNREY! I GUNREY! NO, NO, NO! MOOORRRE! GUNREY!” So, now not only was I the Mom who brought two young children to the sushi restaurant, but also the Mom who left the restaurant without feeding her poor, “gunrey” toddler. Never mind that he ate like Sasquatch for half an hour straight and then refused all food a mere three minutes ago, he was now apparently starving.

Through clenched teeth, I said “I will make you something when we get home. We need to leave.” He stayed on his feet and somehow managed to walk to the van, even while flopping and flailing and yelling and crying. I snapped Grant’s seat into the base and climbed into the third row with Truman, lifted him into his seat and tried to duck his thrashing limbs. I got him buckled, kissed his cheek and told him I loved him. He wasn’t having any of it. I got into the front seat, out of breath and definitely sweating. I prayed Mike was almost done paying the bill. Five minutes of non stop crying and whining later, Mike was finally in the van. We looked at each other and had to laugh. I’m not completely sure, but I feel like we made a silent agreement to not do Sushi with the kids for awhile… or ever again.

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