Last night we went to a Mexican restaurant with our friends, CJ and Keri. I had the ‘Chori Pollo’, which is just fun to say.
Ian had a quesadilla, and sat next to Keri. We try to avoid having Ian sit next to friends during meals—the kid goes through more forks than Neptune—but each time she moved to the opposite side of the table, Ian followed.
We hadn’t seen our friends in quite a while, and Ian was swept to the side of our catching up. He was bored, hadn’t had a nap, and was fading fast. As Ian ate, he listed more and more toward the edge of the table. He rested his head on his arm, and nibbled at his food.
I don’t know if he fell asleep. He certainly had a dazed and unfocused look about him as he picked himself off the floor. We couldn’t help it: we started laughing, all of us. He just looked so confused, and the sudden THWACK! as he hit the floor was so perfectly timed…Curly couldn’t’ve done it better.
But we were the only ones. Everyone around us was silent, and looked concerned. A woman across from me scowled. The man behind her spoke urgently into his cellphone. The cook slapped his spatula menacingly into his hand. Our check arrived, mintless.
Ian was fine. He wasn’t crying or upset. He wasn’t cradling any limbs. Regardless, I knew Ian was okay the moment he hit the floor. Like grandma choosing a ripe melon, parents can hear the difference between a bruise and a trip to the emergency room. If I’d heard a CRACK!, I would’ve been worried. A THONK! would’ve sent me rushing to his side. Plus, he was conscious.
We’ve resigned ourselves to the fact that Ian’s clumsy, a boy, and three years old. Now we just need to spread the word.
Do they make a bumper sticker for that kind of thing?