To Go, Please.

We like to keep things interesting around here. And by we, I mean Wyatt.

Yesterday started pretty well. Child was up a little early but we can flex with that, no problem. It just enabled us to be at Foster, Starbucks in hand, by the time the PX opened at 9. We wandered, he was happy, waving to all the Asian people he saw (and I'm not exaggerating - I think his Hong Kong weekend taught him one thing: wave! and smile! they love it!). We got home around 10:30 or so, and I decided it would be the perfect day to try our not-so-new-anymore Wendy's on Gate 2 Street. Lisa & Nathan were up for it and off we went.

The menu's pretty much the same. I had my standard spicy chicken sandwich and ordered Wyatt some nuggets. All's good, right? Um, no. They don't have highchairs and I didn't bring our portable seat or our handy strap. Great. Okay, no problem. We'll just sit in a booth and Wyatt can sit right next to me. Yeah, right. So as Nathan is happily sitting quietly in his big-boy chair, calmly eating his nuggets and fries, politely asking for them to be cut and for ketchup, Wyatt is thrashing around. Not happy next to me, not happy in my lap, not happy sitting, not happy standing. Generally, not happy. I'm really trying to just keep from completely freaking out about it and continue eating my sandwich with my left hand while wrestling my kid with my right. I might have started sweating.

And Wyatt? Also not interested in eating. Kind of interested in chewing on the nuggets, but then has to spit out the mauled meat to take a drink from his cup, which then gets thrown on the floor. A couple rounds of that and I took the cup away. So now he's whiny about the seat situation, whiny about the food and whiny about not getting his cup. Having fun yet? It gets just a touch better. I - being the kind of prepared mom that I am - had a turkey and cheese sandwich for him in my bag. I thought maybe he'd be happier eating that. Nope. Decidedly not. And now he's so upset that the crying has started. And he has a really runny nose, so there's snot everywhere, he's a wreck, I just want some peace and french fries and then...


Wait for it...


He puked. All over me, all in my bag, on the bench. And that's one way to end a lunch.

Poor Lisa (who has a pronounced fear/aversion to vomit) had to witness the whole thing. She said, "oh no. napkins. you need napkins. I'll get napkins." and returned posthaste with a big ol' stack of napkins. But mind you, this is a Japanese Wendy's so the napkins are at least normal size but are still the wax paper/non-absorbent type favored here in the land of the rising sun.

And I'm sitting there with the following thoughts:
1. Did this happen because I threw up in my mom's bag when I was about 4? Is this some sort of cosmic payback?

2. When do kids stop with the random upchucks? I mean, I have a deep well of sympathy if he's sick, but this was just "I'm so frustrated and worked up that I yakked." I have little patience for that.

3. This was the second time Wyatt's been offered fast food nuggets, probably the tenth time he's been offered french fries and he shows no interest in either. Can he really be my kid?

4. When can I go back to Wendy's for a do-over?

And then, because she's a true friend, Lisa took the keys (which, thankfully, I had already removed from my bag) and bought me a frosty. To go.