Dining out with kids: A Parent's Perspective

I’ve been thinking about all this “kids in restaurants” stuff that seems to create such a stir. I‘d like to add my two cents as a mother of two young children now ages 11 and 8, both of whom have been/being raised in Park Slope Brooklyn. I believe, if asked, most parents would agree that bringing a young child into an “adult” dining experience is pretty unpleasant for BOTH parent and child.

Most, if not all, of my experiences with bringing my children to better adult restaurants were predicated on one thing- an invitation from my in-laws. Some of these invitations were based on particular events, birthdays, anniversaries, and sometimes that’s just how they chose to visit with us. My husband and I always had a hard time saying no to the offer of being treated to delicious food that we didn’t have to prepare or clean up ourselves, in addition to the fact that my in-laws were not easy people to turn down. So there you have it, I found myself eating out with young children in “adult” restaurants more often then I’d like to admit. Guilty.

Here are some memories:

There’s nothing like the moment when my warm goat cheese salad has arrived, the wine is poured and I am simultaneously alerted to the fact that I need to bring my child to the restroom immediately, if not sooner. By the time I’ve returned all the other adults are enjoying their entrees and I still haven’t touched my salad, I scarf a bit of it down before it’s taken away to make room (on those small tables) for the other larger dishes.
I now settle in to the priority task at hand- to cut up my child’s food- partly to avoid any choking scenes, and partly so that once that’s done I can “relax” and eat. No sooner than I stick my fork into that delicious red snapper topped in tomato chutney, a glass of water spills and floods the table (someone forgot the sippy cups!). As the wait staff is being summoned, I’m guiding the stream of water off the table onto my own leg so that the kids aren’t getting soaked.
After that commotion has settled down, although I’ve barely touched my food, we’re ready for the dessert (at the insistence of Grandma). At that moment I have an inexcusable lapse in memory about the fact, that in better adult restaurants, the chocolate desserts will be too rich for small children, having not only plenty of white sugar, but packed with a good jolt of caffeine, Need I say more?

On a bad night, one where we had to wait a while for a table or food, the meltdowns started at the restaurant. We would leave the restaurant, crying kid(s) in tow, heads down to avert any eye contact, knocking into a few tables on our way to the exit. On a good night, we would leave the restaurant before the onset of the inevitable meltdown, but once home, we were faced with an eternally long evening. These were evenings in which our children seemed possessed and unrecognizable to us and we were lucky if any of us got much sleep.
These are just a few of my memories, there are more, but it suffices to say I stopped going to adult restaurants with my kids by the time my youngest could walk. It was clear that being cooped up in a chair for that length of time is hard on those little bodies, not to mention my nerves.
We are all the better for it, yeah we still go out occasionally, (to more appropriate restaurants) but we mostly save that for adult time out. We eat healthy meals at home, where we can hear each other talk about our days and the kids can get up from their seats when and if they need to, without bothering anyone else. Amen.