An Open Apology For My Children At Restaurants

by Karen Alpert
Originally Published: 
A baby in a restaurant in a white T-shirt and beige rompers with a bowl on its head and spaghetti an...

So did you hear about that café owner who just got all pissy about the kid making a mess on her café floor? Or the restaurant that banned kids after 7PM? Bullshit, total bullshit. I mean if you’re gonna open a restaurant, hell if you can tell my kid she can’t make a mess in there… right?

Wrong. So wrong.

I mean, I feel terrible when my kids act like little hooligans in a restaurant. The problem is I’m so busy corralling them and duct taping them to their seats so I can force feed them that I’m too distracted to stop and think about how much I’m pissing off the other customers and waiters. And then when I leave I’m like thank F’ing God that meal’s done. Woo-hooo, that was money well spent.

Anyway, I know it’s after the fact, but here’s an open apology I’d like to offer pretty much any waiter whose section I’ve ever sat in with my children…

Dear poor unfortunate waiter,

Holy crap, we made it. Barely. I know this wasn’t exactly what you pictured when you strapped on your little white apron at the beginning of your shift, so I’d like to offer you my sincerest apology for allllllllll the shit my family put you through tonight. Here goes.

1. I’m sorry my kid removed every single sugar/splenda/sweet’n low/equal/brown sugar packet from the holder. I tried my best to straighten them out and put them back in but that shit ain’t easy once they’re doused in saliva.

2. I’m sorry for laughing at you when you mentioned the cocktail specials at the beginning of the meal. I know I look like I need a cocktail. Or six. But you try getting sauced when you’re taking care of two a-holes who can barely feed themselves. I promise I’ll come back to order one from you in about 18 years. Or tonight if my baby monitor can stretch that far.

3. I’m sorry I peed on my seat a little when I laughed at you. Even though I got a c-section it still sneaks out sometimes. What’s up with that, right? Bullshit, I tell you. Total bullshit.

4. I’m sorry for bringing my own food for the shorties and taking up a bigger table even though only one of us would be ordering. Yeah, I saw your extensive kids’ menu (all nine times you encouraged me to order from it), but my picky eaters won’t eat chicken fingers, mac and cheese, spaghetti, hamburgers, hotdogs, tacos, waffles, buttered noodles, grilled chicken, or grilled cheese. If you ever add peach yogurt, Pirate Booty, or craisins to your kids’ menu, let me know.

5. I’m sorry the people who sat down at our table after us got jelly all over their knees and didn’t tip you because they were so pissed. I should have warned you to clean the underside of the table too. Duh.

6. I’m sorry my kid tongued the holes of the grated cheese shaker. I would have stopped her earlier if I had noticed it was happening but I was too busy trying to stop my little one from dumping his peach yogurt into my purse. Again.

7. I’m sorry my kid watched Caillou on the iPad the whole meal and kept turning up the volume. And no, I have no idea why he’s four and still bald. Or why he’s the whiniest shitbag on the face of the earth. Or why his mom’s actual name seems to be Mommy. And FYI, this would have been a good time to come back over and offer those cocktail specials again.

8. I’m sorry it looked like an explosion of peas and bananas and Cheerios under my kid’s highchair when we left. I swear we didn’t bring a piñata into the restaurant.

9. I’m sorry for the wall incident. If you haven’t found it yet, you will.

10. I’m sorry we drove away the table of adults next to us. But who wants to be serving a bunch of rich overeating alcoholics anyway, right?

11. I’m sorry for plunging my eye daggers into you when you were stupid enough to offer us dessert out loud. Please let all of your wait staff buddies know that moms are experts when it comes to lip-reading “Do you want a dessert menu?”

12. I’m sorry for unbuttoning my pants at the table and then forgetting when I stood up. I usually wear my maternity jeans, but since I haven’t had a baby in over a year and we were going out for a nice meal, I decided to try normal pants. Stupid me.

Anyway, I think that’s it.

I hope you do something fun with the insanely large tip we left you to make up for this evening. You earned every last penny.

See you next week!


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