Ben and I love Smithfield’s BBQ. L.O.V.E. I.T. I dream of it before we make a trip to North Carolina. That Carolina BBQ, those hushpuppies…mmmmmmmmm. I think I just teared up a little.
Anyway, we stopped on our way down to BHI for some BBQ. We were in a rush to make it to the ferry on time, so we just ate quickly and promised ourselves a nice, long Smithfield’s date on the way back home.
On the way back, we spotted the Smithfield’s sign. I wanted to pause for a moment of silence to prepare my mind, body, and soul for the goodness that was about to come. We whipped in the parking lot, ran inside, and got in line. The place was incredibly packed, so I held a table while Ben ordered. It was a very tight squeeze. PB had just woken up from a nap, so he was happy and ready to play. I fed him some lunch and gave him a bottle. He finished eating just as the waitress brought our food. Perfect timing.
I ordered a BBQ platter, which comes with a BBQ sandwich, fries, baked beans, and those hushpuppies that I swear are sent straight from heaven. I also ordered a spare BBQ sandwich because Smithfield’s goodness must be experienced in pairs. PB was sitting between Ben and I, eating a rice cookie in his high chair. I turned my head away from my plate for a half-millimeter of a second. When I looked back around, a portion of my baked beans were gone. I looked at Ben. He had his face in his BBQ chicken. It wasn’t him.
I turned to PB. Guilty was he. Smithfield’s baked beans were smeared all over my sweet baby’s face. I wiped him off and gave him another rice cookie. I told him good boys eat their rice cookies. I gave a quick glance around the restuarant to make sure no one saw me let my 8-month old eat baked beans. The coast was clear.
I turned back around and started eating again. His little hands and fingers kept grabbing at my plate. I moved away. So he started grabbing at Ben’s plate. Ben moved away, too. Pretty soon, Ben and I were sitting on opposite ends of the PB.
Apparently, that ticked him off. He decided it was time to show us who was boss. He grabbed the salt shaker, the pepper shaker, silverware, napkin holders -anything within reach of his little fat fingers-and threw them in the floor. By now, he was making a scene. We tucked our tails, moved closer to him, and picked up the floor as discreetly as possible.
By then, he was in our plates again. Heck broke loose. Tears were cried. Prayers were said. It was a blur of screams, baked beans, baby wipes, BBQ, and my beloved hushpuppies.
20 minutes later, we surveyed the damage. Baked beans in the floor. Baked beans in PB’s hair. Baked beans in my hair. Baked beans down PB’s pants and legs. BBQ hanging from his face. BBQ in the floor. BBQ on the table behind us. Precious hushpuppies lay dying on the floor below us! I ate about 1/16th of my meal. PB ate at least half, and threw the rest around the restuarant. People stopped and stared. I pulled out the baby wipes and gave him a bath in his high chair. I wiped down our table, cleaned the floor, and ran off to the parking lot, thanking God we were 200 miles from home and nobody knew us.
Ben and I could do nothing but laugh. Only about 5 months ago, we could take PB to a restuarant and he would sleep so peacefully the entire time. We have sooooo got this parenting thing down pat! We’d watch all these crazy kids at restuarants and kiss our sweet sleeping boy’s head. Ben and I would exchange high fives in the parking lot, thinking that we had cracked the code of parenting. So glad our kid wasn’t ‘that’ kid.
|This was AFTER the first cleanup. We didn’t get pictures after the PB hurricane. It was too traumatic.|