All fathers and husbands know the expression that was on my wife’s face.
It’s the expression that indicates the gig is up. It’s a hint of anger, colored by equal parts disappointment and shame. It’s the expression that says, “What the hell did you do?! Two minutes! I was gone for two minutes!”
Honestly, a part of me thought she might just deny us like Peter in the high priest’s courtyard and walk away like, “No, I do not know the man.” I know it crossed her mind.
But she didn’t. She snapped right into action because, at this point, I was a broken and useless bystander. Somebody had to be a competent parent. So she slipped right in next to Joe to right the ship.
Her action rubbed off on me and snapped me back to the moment. I tended to Maddie as best I could, and within a minute or so, they both calmed down. The noise level finally backed off to a sniffling whimper.
All that was left was the shame of my incompetence hanging in the air and displayed for all to see as partially digested chicken nuggets and ice cream.
As parents, we pride ourselves on being respectful and responsible in public settings. At a restaurant, we ensured that we respected those around us, including the waitstaff. If we made a mess, we cleaned it up.
But these were special times, and this was a special mess.
As we tried hopelessly to clean it up, doing our best to salvage any shred of dignity that we could, one of the waitstaff said to us in the most loving yet earnest of ways, “Why don’t you guys go ahead and get out of here. We’ll take care of this.”
Chris and I looked at each, each grabbed a kid, and we walked right out. The one time in our parenting life that we took the opportunity to get the hell out of Dodge.
As we walked out, Chris shook her head like this was all a bad dream. She wouldn’t look at me. That’s probably better.
Because I walked into the Old Country Buffet a competent and in-control father, and I walked out someone who couldn’t be trusted with a stuffed Barney doll, let alone a human child.
