Certain establishments my three boys settle into perfectly. Wide open spaces. Forests. Beaches. Malls. Ski resorts. All of these offer endless possibilities for three boys of various ages.
A recently opened coffee shop where everything is clean, new, and for sale – not three boy friendly.
I wanted to check it out. It was on our way home from the latest adventure we shared. It was right there and yet – I knew better.
The boys were tired. They were hungry. Already I worried they might leap out of the van before we made it home. And yet – sometimes even we’ll seasoned mothers make mistakes.
If I’d been smart, I wouldn’t have stopped in the first place. If I’d been half-way intelligent I would have turned around the moment the three burst into the doorway and I saw the gold fringed orange pillows lining the window seat with $100 tag hanging from its side.
I looked at the menu and read items with names like “mozzarella, basil, and tomato flatbread,” or “quinoa”.
Move it along, the smartest, quietest section of my brain whispered.
“Iced latte and two flatbreads please,” my actual voice said to the woman at the counter.
Fancy food takes time. Much time. Much, much time while three boys raced the floors , bounced on the yellow velvet chair beneath elegant hanging plants wrapped in bamboo.
Hungry boys fought over who gets to sit in the window seat while the expensive peach crocheted lap blanket slid toward the floor.
My iced latte arrived.
“Mom,” someone said, “I am so, so hungry.”
“Can I have a chai?” Another said.
They pretend to drink the $9 candles. They offer hot sauce from the table to each other. The youngest grabs two of the glass balsamic bottles and clanks them together.
Who is the idiot that ever thought this was a good idea?
Me.
To be far. Sometimes, rarely, the three can be their very best selves. They can sit calmly, listen with nodding heads, and wait with the patience unknown to most children.
This is not that day. I did not set any of them up for success. It was a train wreck before we even started.
The food arrived and guess what? The three boys looked at the fancy flatbread aghast.
“What they hell is this?” Their eyes said.
The middle was already offered me condolences.
“Sorry mom, sorry. We’ll try to do better.”
The youngest tried. He pulled a slice off the plate and promptly dropped the balsamic covered mozzarella flatbread on his shirt.
The oldest just stared. His mouth twisted in terror. What the hell is that green stuff sprinkled on top?
I grabbed to go containers and shoveled both flatbreads into the tiny boxes. I wiped my hands and the hands of the youngest; the shirt of the youngest.
“When we get home,” I said, “ you eat whatever I put in front of you.”
“Yes mom,” the middle said.
Out on the coffee shop’s large front lawn the four of us could breathe again. I took a sip of my iced latte and sighed at the perfection of it.
My arms jumbled the boxes of food but the boys could feel the calm the openness offered. There was nothing to break out here. They instantly slowed down. They stopped touching each other. They meandered toward the van.
The two oldest grabbed books and began to read. The youngest buckled himself in to his car seat.
“Well,” I said, “that went terribly.”
“What did?” The youngest said.
I sighed. Parked at the stop sign, walked around to the other side of the van and re-closed the passenger side door then returned to my seat and fastened my seatbelt – again.
We drove the last few minutes home in silence. Well, except for the constant chatter of the youngest, unaware of any other way to be.
Embracing Next 