Dinner + Nice Restaurant + Small Children = Disaster

Okay… ‘disaster’ might be overselling it a bit but the Small Child is having his birthday tomorrow and for ages he’s been asking to have a birthday party at Eleven-17 (which is a restaurant over near Surly’s pizza shop).  I lectured the Small Child on the expected level of behaviour at restaurants and we discussed how I didn’t really think it was a suitable venue to have a hoarde of kids even on a week night when they’re usually rather quiet.   And lemme tell you … it don’t get much quieter than a kinda upmarket cafe/restaurant on State of Origin night when there’s plenty of pubs with big screens in the local area.

Anyway he seemed committed to the concept so I made him an offer:  He could have three or four friends join us for dinner and he might find himself the recipient of an extravagant birthday present or… he could have a largish number of friends at which point he should probably expect a rather modest birthday gift.  Being of rather sound mind and judgement for one so lacking in years, the kid chose the small party and the ‘bigger’ pressier – and thank fuck for that I say.  Cos if only four little boys can cause that much noise and bother… I’m so glad we didn’t have a dozen of the little blighters along for the ride!

We (the adults – mostly family) outnumbered them three to one… but do you think we could keep them sitting still for ten minutes together?  It felt like a significant portion of the evening was spent remonstrating with them about the volume of their chatter, the constant fidgeting, and quelling the inexplicable desire to run circles around the restaurant.  Several times, the Small Child was reminded about our deal – he chose an adult restaurant for his dinner party and as such would have to act appropriate to his surroundings…. and he would reign himself in for oh… maybe 2.3 nanoseconds – but his Jackass friend (same one from the other week) simply does not give a shit and doesn’t listen to no bastard.  Yep a seven year old with selective hearing.  Yay!  Fun for the whole family… literally.

I know I’m going off on a tangent here … but  what do you do when your kid’s best mate is a disrespectful little arsehole?  He’s the one with whom I find myself having frequent conversations (over food, drinks, playthings etc) that go something like –

Me:   Would you kids like a glass of milk with your sandwiches?
Jackass:  I don’t want milk.   I want Coke.
Me:   I don’t have Coke.
Jackass:   Well… I only like chocolate milk.
Me:    Sorry. I don’t have chocolate milk either.
(5 mins later – called to have lunch)
Jackass:  Hey!  How come Angel got milk and I got water?

Little shit.  But even worse… what do you do when your kid is being invited around to play at Jackass mate’s place all the time and you know there ain’t much parental supervision goin’ on in them thar parts?   Last time he went for a playdate at Chez Jackass he came home with reports of a bloody nose from an elbow to the face on the trampoline (that’s to be expected from time to time) AND cuts to his feet – because Jackass had convinced the Small Child that smashing empty beer bottles out on the road would be fun.  Yep, the Small Child did the smashing because Jackass told him to and because Jackass wouldn’t do it himself because he’d gotten in trouble for last time.  ‘Boys will be boys!’ his Mum smilingly says by way of explanation.  Ahh… question:   What the fuck was my kid doing playing out in the street a stone’s throw from Creek Road without supervision in the first place?

Blargh… I honestly don’t really care about Jackass’ wellbeing (in fact if he dropped off the planet I wouldn’t mind over much…) and I’m pretty sure he’s going to grow up to be one of those mealy mouthed teenagers who totally ignores anything his Mum says and takes a swing at his Dad one day… but c’est la vie.  Not my kid = not my problem. 

Except of course the effect of exposure over time is showing more and more on the Small Child… and we are seriously not amused.
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