Sometimes I Just Don't Feel Like Making Dinner

We are that family. As much as I hate to admit it, I know that we are.

 I can tell by the looks out of the corners of people's eyes as they are trying to enjoy their meal. Or sometimes it is just the obvious stares. I know it, and I apologize. But sometimes we just have to get out of the house. Sometimes like everyone else, I am lacking motivation to make dinner. Sometimes I just need a break.

Take last night for example. By the time we got home from Jacob's baseball game, it was 7:00. My husband and I were both beat as we had spent the entire day preparing for our first showing of our house that we just put on the market. So dinner had been the last thing on our mind, and there was nothing prepped to cook. Since it was Father's Day weekend, we opted for a night out with my husband choosing his favorite steak place. I really wasn't up for it, but I wasn't up for scrounging something together in the kitchen either. The thought of figuring out what to make and locating all my kitchen items packed away to make our kitchen more appealing, seemed daunting. So dinner out seemed like the most logical solution.

From experience we know that any type of wait for Jacob at a restaurant is almost impossible. He can't stand or sit still and is constantly in motion getting his two year old sister riled up. Typically we avoid eating out on the weekends because of this, but the restaurant we were going to took call ahead seating. Our time was for 8:00.

As we arrived at the very crowded restaurant, I was thrilled we would be avoiding the full waiting area littered with peanut shells. Instead we were instantly seated in a booth near the window. The restaurant was full with every table filled even at this hour. As we sit down, I am all hands trying to remove everything within the vicinity of both my kids, wrangling the salt shaker out of the baby sister's hands and clearing a spot for Jacob so nothing gets spilled.

Jacob settles in next to me and is happy that this restaurant serves warm yummy buns with cinnamon butter. Jacob has little patience for anything, especially food. Immediately he grabs for a bun, which is too hot causing him to drop it, and yell, "Hot, hot, hot!"

Our server is there wanting our drink orders. As I am trying to hear her reply to the drink specials, Jacob is talking nonstop in my right ear wanting to know if he can order the macaroni and cheese. Over and over he keeps asking as loud as possible while his baby sister tries to talk over him. Yes, we already are a chaotic mess at our table as I look at the older couple to our left quietly eating their meals.

Drink orders in, we begin looking at the menus all the while Jacob continues to discuss the mac n cheese option while constantly being in motion. "Jacob sit." "Jacob, please sit down." Over and over, my husband and I remind him of how he is to be acting while in the restaurant, yet he continues to lean on me, or slide under the table.

"Jacob, get off of the floor!" I tell him.

"I just want to sit by my baby sister," he tells me trying to justify his decent to the floor below. It doesn't help that his baby sister laughs at everything he does and finds it hysterical that he is sitting on the floor below her peaking at her.

"Look around the restaurant and if you see any other kid your age sitting on the floor, then you can too," I tell him knowing that it is only my son that chooses to sit on the floor while dining out. This does keep him busy for a minute as he scours the room in hopes of finding someone else sitting below their booth.

And then the clapping starts. And the singing. Oh yes, it's someone's birthday! A great cause for a celebration. But not for our family. "Happy Birthday" is sung quietly at our house. And so as the entourage of restaurant employees flock to the lucky birthday boy's table, Jacob's face perks up and the familiar look of panic takes over.

"I want to get out of here!" he says loudly.

Thankfully I am on the outside of the booth blocking his escape or surely he would have attempted to flee, but instead he is almost in a trance staring across the room at the birthday table. Of course he is standing, to which I calmly try to get him to sit. Finally the song is over, and he sits down.

And just as his bottom hits the booth cushion, another round begins as the employees make their way to another birthday table this time closer to us. Jacob quickly jumps up his hands over his ears.

"It's too loud!" he yells.

It is a little loud as they scream, cheer, and sing ending with a loud "Yee Haw!"

It's over and just as our appetizer gets to our table, Jacob announces he has to go to the bathroom. It never fails. Every time food is brought to our table, Jacob always has to use the restroom. Since it is Fathers's Day weekend, I opt to take him. The problem is, Jacob is very tall for a six year old. He looks more like a ten year old easily. Yet, going into a restroom alone is not the best option for him. He sometimes needs help still, so he heads on in to the woman's restroom with me. I quickly usher him into the first stall, to which he immediately exits.

"I don't have to go anymore," he tells me.

I glance around into the stall and see the automatic flushers. Jacob hates them. They are too loud for him and always take him by surprise. It's one of the things he is supposed to be working on for his psychiatrist.

"Nope," I tell him. "You are going," and I gently push him back in following right behind him. I do my normal mom routine of keeping my hand over the sensor until he is finished and has his hands over his ears. "Ok, mom, you can do it now, " he tells me.

We head back to our table. Jacob picks up right were he left off, talking loudly, playing with the blinds, leaning on me, and trying to descend to the floor. As we wait for our food, my husband and I are constantly giving him direction as to what he is supposed to be doing or not doing. He'll pause or stop briefly, but then does it again as if we never spoke. It's exhausting. How I wish we could just quietly sit and make conversation instead of this game we play.

Our food arrives, and we work toward getting everyone settled. It is a flurry of activity. Cutting this, sharing that, cooling this down, "Don't touch that, it's hot", a little ketchup there, etc. We barely hear our server as she asks if everything is to our liking. How would I know? I haven't even noticed the food in front of me yet.

And just as I go to take that first bite..."I'm going to throw up! I have to go to the bathroom!" Jacob says loudly.

Seriously!

"I'll take him, " my husband graciously says.

We both know he really isn't going to throw up. This happens every meal we eat out. Jacob eats too fast and too much and really just needs to use the restroom.

I start to take one bite of my steak, but am feeling guilty eating warm food while my husband is helping Jacob. I look over at the baby sister who had been singing, but has suddenly stopped, and sure enough I see the look.

"I pooping!" she tells me and everyone else within ear shot. *sigh* Really?

Not that I should be surprised. There are many a meal where there is no one at our table. I'm sure servers come back to check on us all the time thinking we have skipped out on our bill, only to find we are both in the restrooms with different children. It's a guarantee at every meal.

And just then the music gets loud in the restaurant and I see all the servers taking their spots in the aisles to dance. Great, an obstacle course to the bathroom. As I grab the diaper bag and the baby sister,   Jacob and my husband round the corner back to our table. Jacob is smiling and dancing along, and my husband spotting the diaper bag on my shoulder says, "Seriously" and lets out a little laugh.

Baby girl changed, we return to our table. I notice a new couple sitting across from us. I can't tell if they are annoyed with each other, or already annoyed with my son. Sorry, but if you were wanting a romantic meal, I'm not sure your local steak joint with peanuts on the floor is the best choice. "It is what it is," I think as my son lays down across my back because his tummy is too full.

As I take the first bite of my steak, I look around the restaurant. It is loud and most everyone is oblivious to my family. Sure the few fortunate people near us got a glimpse of our life, and I do apologize for that. I know my son is loud and never stops talking. I know that my baby girl yelling, "No, no, Jakey!" to her brother when he tries to steal her food is bothersome. I know that him laying on the floor covered by peanuts is gross. I know him fiddling with the blinds annoys the entire row of patrons. I know that the jumping, bouncing, talking, moving, fiddling, singing, noise making, etc, etc, gets to be too much.

I see it all. It's not that I don't notice. I just don't always know what to do. I have no magic answers to my son's actions. I have no magic answers to Aspergers.  But just know I am doing my best.

And sometimes I just don't feel like making dinner.