Never A Dull Moment

Last night we went out to dinner at Panera. We placed our order and chose a table. I'm pretty sure that the sandwich maker called out "Audrey" instead of "Jeremy" when our order came up, but I let it slide.

There were a couple of groups of cheerleaders there from Noblesville High School who I assume had just finished practice. Like migrating birds, they traveled in groups. There was a large flock in the front of the restaurant and a smaller flock that had settled on the other side of the restaurant. You would think that, with the noise they made, they would have noticed each other and blobbed together as gaggles of geese are prone to do. However, they didn't notice each other until the larger flock got up to leave.

Our table was right next to the garbage, so they ended up coming right next to us. Ava looked over her shoulder at them, seeing the teenie-bopper she is doomed to become. I whispered into her ear, "Do not go gently into that cold night.... Remember."

From their new vantage point the larger flock noticed the smaller flock. This resulted in conversation that went across the restaurant, despite the larger flock remaining right next to our table. Their conversation was friendly, but its hard to carry on a conversation with your wife when you're surrounded by a dozen or so honking geese. Eventually the larger flock disbursed into the cold evening weather, clearly prepared for it with their short shorts on.

We finished up our dinner and I took care of our trays and our dishes. The only thing that remained on the table was the brick-shaped milk carton firmly in the grasp of Ava's hands. The carton was designed to be drank by piercing it with a straw, like a Capri-Sun. She was in no mood to let us take it from her, so I let her hold it as I picked her up. Mistake #1.

When I lifted her from the highchair she ended up squeezing the milk carton. (You see where this is going don't you?) A stream of milk sprayed forth from the straw up into the air. Unfortunately, when gravity took over the milk came down on the table, the floor, and my coat. One drop landed on Ava. That's hardly fair. Figuring the worst was over, I let her continue to hold the carton. Mistake #2.

The first time she squeezed the carton it was so much fun that she decided to do it again, on purpose this time. Another difference was that, this time, she was going for record height. She let loose an arch that rivaled the one in St. Louis. "I'll take that," I said.

There was a middle-aged woman sitting a couple of tables away from us who had a great view of Ava's eruptive efforts. To stereotype her, she looked like the kind of woman who had rode out the younger years of several children. With each spurt of milk her face reflexively winced. After the milk landed, her face settled into a sympathetic, knowing smile. Was she blessing her stars that her kids were past this age? Maybe. However, I think the main reason she was smiling was because she fondly remembered her own times like this. A two year old adds a level of excitement to your life such that the fun far outweighs the hassle. Even as the milk shot through the air I had joined Ava in laughter.