Raw Drip

It was a Friday night and we were eating dinner at a popular pizza restaurant in the mall.  Shortly after we were seated, the hostess seated a family at the adjacent table.  Amidst the melee of screaming, crazed children and frazzled parents, this family looked as though they’d been ripped from the pages of the PB Kids catalog.   As they arranged their Neiman Marcus shopping bags and seated themselves, the process was polite and orderly.  I learned the attractive couple was Julia & Kevin, and their daughter was Isabelle.  Little Isabelle, age 3, was dressed as impeccably as her parents and colored quietly as they spoke in hushed voices over glasses of white wine.  

To say that there was a contrast between our two families would be an understatement.  With Dick in jeans, and a freshly tomato-sauce-stained shirt, and me in sneakers, wrinkled cargo pants and an Old Navy sweater, our appearance said to the world, “Hey, we took the time to bathe today!”  Adam and Tabitha, in their finger-paint-splattered Gap hoodies and worn Target sneakers looked a notch above street-urchin.  And, as usual, they couldn’t sit still to eat – they could only manage to stand next to their chairs, jiggling like little drug addicts who’ve become edgy before their next hit.  Several times, I caught Julia looking us over, trying to suppress the disdainful expression on her face. 

But, as children often do, Isabelle leveled the playing field – just a bit.  With her parents distracted by their own grown-up conversation and observing our train-wreck-of-a-meal, all her efforts were devoted to coloring her bread plate a stunning shade of blue.  Proudly she showed her artwork to her mother, “Mommy, I put the sky on my plate!”  Julia, horrified, grabbed the plate and said sternly, “Isabelle Marie Daniels – what a mess you’ve made! This is not an acceptable way of expressing your creativity.  Now, put those crayons down this instant!”  Isabelle pouted and slouched resolutely in her chair as Julia angrily turned on Kevin, blaming him for not noticing Isabelle’s behavior. 

As the happy couple fought over whose fault it was for Isabelle’s blue plate not-so-special,  their daughter regrouped and developed new ideas for childish mischief and attention-grabbing stunts.  In a less than ten minute period, Isabelle:

• attempted to use the lit candle on the table to set a packet of Sweet-n-Low on fire
• wrapped the cord from the nearby mini-blinds around her neck – twice
• dumped all of the salt out of the salt shaker and onto the tabletop
• used her spoon to fling grated Parmesan cheese across the table and all over her dad’s blazer

For all this couple’s efforts to portray an image of refined, urbane sophistication to the outside world, a 3 year-old girl was the humbling force that brought the whole facade crumbling down.  By the time their order arrived, Julia & Kevin looked exhausted and defeated.  Silently fuming at one another, they rushed through their dinner salads, gathered their shopping bags and left before we’d even gotten our entrees. 

I don’t care who you are or how ready you think you are for children, nothing prepares you for the big reveal – that singular moment where your actions as a parent force you to acknowledge the gap between who you really are and who you want to be.   As you’re faced with the inevitability of it all you realize the only way to survive is to surrender –  to give in to the chaos, to acknowledge the enormous and frightening potential of the lives you’ve created – in all their stunning imperfection, and to let old images of self be diluted (not erased, just watered down a bit).  

This is heavy stuff, I know.  So if you have a new baby or our contemplating having one, allow me to offer you some advice:  do you love eating in chic, upscale restaurants in tony little neighborhoods?  Forget ‘em.  It’s time to let down your hair, make peace with yourself and join the rest of us slobs at the mall.   The food’s not that bad and with all the other children screaming, no one will notice that you’ve added one more to the mix.