An Open Letter to Lucille’s BBQ and Other Chain Restaurants

Dear Lucille’s,

Let me start by saying that I don’t mean to single you out specifically.  I mean, I could probably throw in your brethren over at Chili’s, El Torito and BJ’s, and many others too, but last night I visited your fine establishment, so I am writing to you today.  Don’t misunderstand me either, there are many positive aspects of eating at your restaurant, specifically with my kids.  Overall, I don’t love going to restaurants with my kids, you’ve got to believe me.  The thought of dragging two kids who are pooped from a day’s worth of non-stop kidlet action into your eatery is not my idea of fun, but neither is cooking and this has become a game of survival.  I’m tired, and when I walk in, it’s because I just want someone else to cook and do the darn dishes.  And provide coloring.  Oh how I appreciate your crayon packs, activity books and kids’ menus with drinks included.  I know that there are many of us who do and this is what keeps up coming back.  Whether or not you like us.  You need us and frankly, we need you too.

But here’s where my love begins to fade.  I beg you:  PLEASE stop training your employees to follow a strict script and upsell every customer who walks in and sits down at the expense of good, efficient customer service.  Allow me to illustrate.

My younger son just had a meltdown.  Even though we agreed to eat at Lucille’s, he has since changed his mind.  Whatever.  I can handle his nonsense.  I tell you this only to illustrate what my life looked like for a solid 15 minutes, while standing in front of your restaurant.  May I offer a suggestion?  Assume that everyone who walks in with young children has had a similar experience as they walk in.  It’s not bad, it’s just our reality and at that point, your mission should be clear:  Get this family fed as quickly as possible and out the door unless their actions indicate otherwise.  Trust me, we’ll buy drinks and/or dessert if we can and tip your servers well if they become our ally.  And, I should mention, we will be back and tell our friends.

After waiting several minutes, our server walks up.  Before he can say hello, the same son who just came down from his hysterics, starts whining to me that he is so hungry and thirsty.  I assure him that we are going to get food and drink shortly.  I am then able to say hello back.

“Can I get started taking your drink order?”

“Actually, we are all set to order everything, thanks,” I reply.

“Well, can I interest you in an appetizer? How about some Onion Straws or Spinach Dip?  Maybe you’d like a cocktail from the bar?”

I don’t know if this is covered in training, but your agenda as a server to stick to script cannot successfully override a crying preschooler.  Ever.  When your customer says she is ready to order, listen to her.  Especially if she has kids.  She will pay you extra if you listen to her- no one has all day and if you are the first, you will be rewarded handsomely in your gratuity.

Once, I remember being at Island’s and we had a server who totally got IT.  When she came up and saw me with two little kids, she jumped right in.

“Mom,” she said, “have these guys decided what they want to eat?  Let’s get their order in as soon as we can because I bet they are hungry!”  She was fully aware of our family’s needs for our visit.  She brought out crackers with the drinks, just in case.  She gave us extra napkins immediately, without us asking.  She was either a mom or a psychic or superhero or some freakish combination of them all.

But the best thing, I mean the best thing EVER, was what she did when she came to check on us after we had our food.  She brought me the check.  She explained that even though everything seemed to be going well at our table, she knew it could change at any moment.  If we wanted dessert or coffee, by all means, she’d check back in a bit, but just in case, the check was there.  That, my friends, is how you upsell and guarantee a good tip.  The coffee was hot and the ice cream pie was delicious, by the way.

By contrast, last night, my total visit lasted well over an hour, with most of our time spent waiting for our server to come back to us.  There was no indication that our server understood was interested or aware of who sat at our table.  When I asked for the check, the second time, he ignored me and asked if we were ready for some Cobbler or maybe some Red Velvet Cake.   One kid was dancing and doing ninja moves and the other was sitting in my lap, ready to fall asleep. As calmly as I could, I just said, “No.  Please just bring me the check.”

Understand, I’m not entirely faulting the server for this.  I’ve had this experience happen at many different restaurants (see list above), several times, with and without my children.  It is clear that servers are trained to suggest additional items to increase the total bill.  I get it, and I know it is part of the sales process and that is fine.  But if I may, allow me offer you this suggestion from those of us who eat in restaurants WAY TOO OFTEN-  when you train your employees to stick to script and focus strictly on the upsell, we can tell and probably won’t be ordering extra, sometimes just out of spite.  I submit that an alternative is to train servers to assess their guests and determine the level of customer service needed and gauge opportunity to upsell.  This is a genuine interaction, much quicker and will probably increase the amount many of us spend.

For the record- we did get dessert and coffee.  AFTER we left.

Not Dark Yet

The other night, as I drove home after an evening of sharing, listening, talking, “Not Dark Yet” by Bob Dylan came on the radio.  Feeling a little melancholy, I immediately thought of you, my former best friend.  I can’t believe we live so close to one another, despite being a couple thousand miles from our hometown, and yet I don’t know you anymore.  You don’t know me, either.  Our lives have moved so far from one another and it seems really strange because for so many years, since we were kids, we were best friends.  I thought it was so special that a girl and boy could be best friends and never have to become Harry & Sally.  We spent so many hours talking, listening to music, watching tv, doing nothing, playing guitar, singing in the car, going to concerts… oh the concerts.  I saw my first concert with you- I think it was your first too.  Billy Idol, Rebel Yell.  1984.  Your mom brought a book and read in the 11th row and we laughed when we smelled pot in the air for the first time.  You looked like Anthony Michael Hall and I was Molly Ringwald.  We watched each other fall in love with other people, had our hearts broken, talked about everything .  We would stop talking for unknown reasons and then we would be friends again.  We were good, good friends.

People assumed we would get married one day.  I think we were the only two who didn’t agree.  That’s not to say we didn’t wonder. I can only speak for myself when I say I wondered.  I felt it was at least something I should ask myself and you- was our friendship more?  I wasn’t even asking because I wanted us to be together like that, I just wanted to make sure we weren’t ignoring something.  But I think that my asking the question changed our friendship. I’m sorry if it did.

I remember when you got married.  I was so happy for you both.  I remember when you started dating her and I saw how happy you were and when I saw you two together, I knew it was good stuff.  I also remember feeling left out.  Not because I was jealous or wanted to be in her place, but because I saw your new life and knew I wouldn’t be part of it.  I saw other friends be part of your joy and I was now on the outside.  For some reason, I always thought I’d been a groomswoman in your wedding, and when you and the guys were all were talking about seeing Levon Helm in New York and I kept thinking, “Why wasn’t I there?”  The girl you were best friends with since childhood would have been there with you guys, just as she was when we waited at midnight for gas in Wisconsin after seeing The Who.  I realized that there was no longer a place for a grown woman in this friendship of men.

It hurt for a long time, I was angry and I resented you.  But now, I am just happy to have such good memories and hope they are good ones for you, too.

I bet you are a good husband and a good dad.  I have no doubt that you work really hard to make a good life for your family.  I also am certain that you are a good man.  I hope you still play guitar a lot.  You play beautifully and I miss singing with you.  Especially Dylan.

Fall Asleep, Love

—Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.

“A Woman’s Last Word”, by Robert Browning

There is only one thing worse that an overtired little kid.  An overtired little kid, his overtired brother and their overtired mom, all trying to make it to bedtime without losing their s#!t completely.  It really is just a matter of time and I am certain about one thing.  This. Will.  Suck.

We went to dinner, one kid was climbing the rails (literally) and the other kept interrupting.  I yelled.  Some lady told me that my kid was putting quarters too close to his mouth and was going to choke.  I’m assuming she was being helpful and nice but in my state, she had laser beams of judgement shooting out of her eyes and talon-like nails, perfect for finger wagging.  I just smiled, said thank you and that he has already swallowed a dime and penny in his short 4 years, 11 months and 11 days on Earth so far, so I’ll be sure to keep an eye on him.  We ate.  We left.  After we had some food in us, it all seemed a little bit better.  I told the kids to go in the backyard to play and let them have ice cream cones.  I plopped on my bed and goofed off online.  Things were looking up, but Little Guy’s exhaustion got the better of him and he fell apart.  This is where the story should get really sucky and I start ranting about how cuckoo these babies were.

But here’s what really happened:

I hugged Big One, who kept trying to crawl into bed and cuddle with me while I having some quiet time.  While I asked Little Guy to get ready for his bath, I explained that we needed to just love Little Guy through this and help him get to bed.  What I know as a mom is that when my kids are that wiped out and just a wreck, there is no use in doing anything except love them through it.  I can’t say it was without its moments- he drank bath water and splashed me when I told him it wasn’t okay and it was time to get out of the tub.  He fell into hysterics when I said it was time to actually go to sleep.  I had to carry him up the ladder of his bunk bed and just hold him as he sobbed and insisted that he ‘really wasn’t very tired’.  30 minutes, a drink of water and a proper set up of stuffed monkeys in his bed, Little Guy was asleep.

I went into the living room and cuddled Big One for the next 45 minutes.  At one point, he thanked me for spending some alone time, just me and him.  He is older and not as demanding as his little brother, but I realized that his need for me to give him my love and attention are just as present and real.  Loving him through those feelings is so special to me and I am so grateful for it.  We watched a bit of TV and he put his head on my chest, twirling my hair like he did when he was so small.  He went to bed without issue and I hugged him so tight.  When I came into my room a bit later to write this, I found that he had snuck into my bed AGAIN.  I think I’ll let him stay tonight.

I’m Powerless over Facebook.

ad·dic·tion*
/əˈdikSHən/
Noun
The fact or condition of being addicted to a particular substance, thing, or activity.

My name is(n’t) Mommy, and I’m addicted* to Facebook.

I wake up in the morning, and it is the first thing I do.  I reach over and check my status updates.  Did anyone ‘like’ what I said?  Did anyone post a new picture or say something cute/funny/annoying/self-indulgent?  I have tried to wake up with prayer and meditation, even reading my horoscope in lieu of FB, but I always find my way back.  And I can’t stop.

I check it when I’m in traffic, when I’m in line for coffee, when I’m at dinner and want to avoid the kids.  I try to convince myself that I post pictures of the kids so my family can see them, but let’s be real here, I do it so people will tell my how adorable they are.  I post pictures of myself when I’m feeling pretty too.  It’s not enough that I feel pretty, I need the peanut gallery to say so.

Listen, FB, you and I had fun for a long time.  Remember that one time when I posted that funny observation?  No?  Ok.  Well, what about that time I made cookies and shared the recipe?  You don’t remember that either?  Fine.  You have got to remember telling me Happy Birthday, I mean it was my 40th!  When’s my birthday?  Really, FB.  Really?  You’re telling me that you don’t have any recollection of that video I posted of puppies?  C’mon!  That was f’ing epic.  I mean they were PUPPIES and ADORABLE!

I’m now seeing that our relationship may be a little one-sided. I like and like and comment and post and share and it never seems like enough.  I give so much of my time and sometimes, when I spend too much time with FB, I feel bad.  You show me cute pictures of other people and remind me of how healthy everyone else eats while I eat Goldfish crackers and scroll my status page.  I see what appears to be happy friends at ball games and concerts and I’m staring at my phone.  And when I am having fun, you know what I’m thinking?  “I should post this on FB!”  I mean it’s still fun, except when it’s not and I think it might be time to stop.

So, today, I admit I have a problem.  I know some people can use it responsibly, but I I’m thinking I might not be one of them.  I want to quit, really I do.  But how will I know what George Takei is thinking today?  I mean, what if there is a new video of a baby I’ve never met?  How will I find out the latest words that have been autocorrected on the iPhone??  And what about my ex?  How will I be able to see who my ex is dating?

I’m scared, FB.  What if I’m not strong enough to give you up?  Is there a detox tea? A patch? A meeting I can go to?  I guess admitting I have a problem is the first step and even though this will automatically post to FB once I hit Publish, and I will check later to see if anyone likes it, I know I am getting close to at least trying to cut down.  Tomorrow.

*Note:  Addiction is NOT a joke and while I do talk about it here with regard to Facebook as a joke, I do not take the topic of addiction lightly.

A Wish for My Friend on a Tough Day

Imagine applying for your dream job when you are a kid and waiting your whole life to  finally get it.  That’s what becoming a mom was like for her.  And now that her baby is starting school next week, it feels like she just got laid off- or at least a significant cut in hours.  She knows that she will find a new job, maybe even a great job, but not the one she really wants.  And when she called this morning to cry, I just listened and wished I could have kissed away her tears.  She didn’t need advice, although she knows me well enough to expect some anyway, she just needed to be heard and for someone to understand.  And I am humbled and grateful that she chose my number to dial.

In case I didn’t say it on the phone, you are an amazing woman.  What I love the most about you is the way you love fully, with your whole heart.  That little family you made is a testimony of your beauty and grace.  Be kind and gentle with yourself as you move through the next few days, even weeks.  The right thing will find you if you let it.  Give others the right to their own feelings on the subject, but don’t lose sight of your own needs and give them away.

And if all else fails, and you are still stuck in the muck and mud, remember that time I set my arm on fire in the dorm.  At least I can make you laugh.

You Are a Joy and a Treasure

To my beautiful boy,

I write you today, just because.  It is not a special day of any kind, and yet, I felt like I needed to say some things to you.  Even though you are 7 and not allowed on the computer without permission and you might never even read this, I write this to you so I can remember today.

This morning you crawled in my bed, snuggled up and asked me to scratch your back.  You had horrible morning breath.  You farted on my leg.  It was incredibly annoying because really, I was doing important things.  I was reading my horoscope and checking Facebook.  My coffee was ready in the kitchen, calling to me.  I was in no mood to be MOM, not yet.

You started talking about making a carnival at your brother’s preschool.  Again.  This topic of conversation has been constant and when I said, “I’ll think about it,” you took that as a YES and have been planning it ever since.  No, I haven’t bought prize tickets yet, I haven’t asked the school if we can do it and I really don’t think an egg toss is a good idea for preschoolers.

You are the first person I ever met that I am biologically related to.  You look just like me.  You are loving and kind and creative.  You are so smart, that it freaks me out sometimes. But most of all, like your brother, I am completely in love with you.  I learn from you every day.  You teach me grace, because even when I’m not in the mood to get all mommy up in your business, I do it anyway and you just love me.  You don’t care if I’m having a bad day, you don’t need to know about the real, grown-up problems in my life, you just love me.

You are kind and funny and generous and mindful of others and I hope you got bits of those qualities from me.  I love that you want to have a carnival for preschoolers just because you think they’d love it.  But if I take any credit for those qualities, then I must also acknowledge that the things that drive me crazy are also bits from me, too.  They are little reminders of my own character defects, although I prefer to call them ‘personality quirks’.  I hope you grow to embrace them and not beat yourself up over them, because they are still part of you and you are beautiful.

Thank you for reminding me of this today.  And stop scratching your butt.  I love you to the moon and back, infinity.

Is it Hot in Here or is it Just Me?

The fine folks at BlogHer have been kind enough to give those of us participating in NaBloPoMo for August daily prompts to help us blog each day.  The prompts are only if needed, and for me, today, ’tis needed indeeded.

Monday, August 5, 2013
What makes a woman hot? Is it something physical, an intangible personality trait, or something else entirely that labels a person as hot?

Really?  Sheesh.  In that case, let’s do this.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the definition of hot is:

a : having a relatively high temperature;
b : capable of giving a sensation of heat or of burning, searing, or scalding;
c : having heat in a degree exceeding normal body heat.

This really makes me think the answer to this question is simple.  Menopause.  Menopause makes a woman hot.  Also, wearing too many clothes.  That will make this woman hot.  Or if the heat is on too high.  Or if it is 95 degrees in Chicago in the summertime and I’m not in A/C.  Who’s hot then?  Me, baby, me.  Oh, and let’s not get started on Mexican food.  That will make me hot in a flash! (get it… hot…flash?  I’ll be blogging all month, thanks.)

But that’s not really what this question is asking, right?  Let’s use another reliable source, shall we?  Hit it, Urban Dictionary:

1.someone thats EXTREMEMLY good looking but not like cute, more like sexy. when they walk by u turn ure head and wish u had a pause button or something.
2.something that is in some way attractive

Aside from the fact that ANYONE can post their own definition and the use of proper spelling and grammar is apparently optional, this is really what is at the heart of this question, isn’t it?  And you don’t really want to hear about why all woman are hot in their own ways either.  The question is basically asking me to blog about what I think makes a woman hot, isn’t it? I agree completely with Urban Dictionary’s first entry, with the exception being that someone needs to be extremely good looking.  Obviously, there are people who are just good looking, but that doesn’t mean I find them ‘hot’ or get hot when I see them.  The qualities that I find attractive in others is hard to define- it is a look, a way they carry themselves, the way that they look at me.  It can be a gesture, a smile, the way they look in glasses.  I just know it- I feel it- when it’s there.

Tomorrow, the question asks if I would want to be known as hot.  I’ll just answer now.  I’d be lying if I said no.  I think everyone at some point or another in our lives, wants to feel desired physically by another person.  And when I feel good about myself, that only adds to the mix.  I feel attractive to ME and that confidence shows through to others.  That, is hot.

Eating the Golden Rule

I’ve been thinking about trying a vegan diet for a month.  I’ve always been a sorta vegetarian- mostly because I don’t like the texture of meat- but certainly not serious about it.  Now I know that pretty much EVERYONE has an opinion on this topic and really, that’s fine, but it’s also fine for everyone to do whatever works for them.  This post is really just my ramblings about my recent thoughts.

When I think about how I want to live my life, I really try to abide by the Golden Rule.

Love Thy Neighbor as Thyself

I try and be kind and mindful in my actions with others.  I try to treat others as I would like to be treated.  I am not always successful, but I try.  Lately, I’ve been thinking about how I eat and the concept of putting good things in my body, in order to live a more positive life.  The idea is similar to the Golden Rule, except in this case, I am putting good things in, hoping that goodness will come out.  If I eat healthy, I live healthy.  It’s kind of like “you are what you eat”.  If I eat like garbage, I feel like garbage.  If I eat well, I feel well.  Pretty simple, right?

But lately, I’ve been expanding this idea to include how my food is produced.  If farmers, plants, even the animals are treated poorly, how does this affect my life after I consume the food they produce?  I don’t have any answers, just questions and again, I know there are as many opinions and perspectives as there are snowflakes.  None of these seem to help me get any closer to the right thing for me.  So I’ve been thinking… and thinking… and thinking.

What I think I would like to try is to eat a Golden Rule diet.  And that means thinking about how the food has been produced before consuming it.  For example, most of the time, I plan to eat a plant-based, vegan diet, but I would like to also add in dairy products, when and if I can eat them knowing that the animals and humans who produce the food are treated as I would like to be.  I imagine that this might take some getting used to, but it shouldn’t be impossible, should it?  It might be pricy, but if I can’t afford something, is that reason enough to buy a less than ‘golden’ product, or do I just go without?  I mean, in every other area of my life, I try not to compromise my values when they don’t align with others or my circumstances, right?

Uh-oh.  I totally do this sometimes.  But I think, truthfully, a lot of us do this.  We take a job that compromises our needs, either personally or financially, because we need a job.  We spend time with someone we don’t really like because we don’t want to be alone.  And we eat what we know isn’t ‘good for us’.

Do you think there is benefit to changing this.  Does anyone want to share an adventure with me?  Do you want to join me on the eating the Golden Rule?  I have no science or anything to back this up, if you need it to do this.  Of course, if you know of any data, feel free to share.

Beautiful Day to be Mom(Me)

“Why don’t you just go to the beach?” asked my good friend, Osco.

Being from the midwest, it often escapes me that I can just go to the beach. It was 3 p.m. on a Friday, and I was in the mood to get in the water. In a moment, I ran home, put on my swimming bits and pieces, grabbed towels and suits for the boys and grabbed them from camp.  I figured an hour or so at the beach would be enough.

My past behavior started suggesting that this would end badly (see post, Workin’ at the Carwash), but I decided to let contrary action prevail. Man, am I ever grateful that I did. We let the waves crash into us, trying to guess which ones would be strong and which would be weak. Big One loves to go in further and further, jumping into the waves, while Little Guy holds my hand and we try to challenge it to knock us down.  When they had enough, they went to bury each other in the sand.

I saw their laughter, their joy, and took a moment to really enjoy being their mom. A moment to really enjoy the waves, the beauty of the ocean. And I acknowledge that it’s really a blessing that I get to live like this.  I will try and remember this when they start driving me nuts.  Like now… as I write this post.

Happy Birthday, Joe Elliott.

“Photograph”, by Def Leppard, remains one of my favorite songs.  Their lead singer, Joe Elliott, was my first teenage crush.

This song came out 30 years ago. I was 12 years old and when I saw him and heard him sing, I was firmly rooted in my very first crush. The chorus of this song continues to make me want to cry and I’m no expert in music theory to try and explain it. Is there some sort of chord structure that evokes desperation or sadness or longing, because that’s what I feel when I hear it even now.  And I hear it when he sings- almost screams- the higher notes, like he just has to get there, whether or not his vocal range says he should.  I remember staring at pictures of the band in Circus Magazine, cutting them out and hanging them on my bedroom door.  He, like a lot of other rock musicians at the time, had this beautiful androgyny that I loved.  My best friend had the same love for David Bowie.  They were masculine, but had an unescapable softness in their presentation.  I mean, check it out, buddy has a mullet and is wearing leg warmers in this video.  And a scarf. And leather pants.  There is so much to now laugh at or mock, but I will tell you that this teenage girl was in LOVE.  I won’t even get into my thoughts on the Union Jack muscle shirt.

So Joe Elliott, Happy Birthday (even though it was yesterday).  I don’t care if the calendar says you turned 54. In my photograph, you are still 24 and I am still a teenage girl with a crush.