Motherhood AKA-Waitressing for Small People

Motherhood
AKA-Waitressing for Small People

By Christine Waldman



When I dreamt of having children, I thought of having sweet smelling, gurgling babies who looked just like me, but prettier, and hopefully smaller.
I knew that my level-headedness, love of kids, and years of babysitting experience would all be valuable attributes to possess when parenting. Little did I know that all I really needed was the talents I gained during my short stint as a waitress when I was 19.
It all started when my first child was able to say Ba-Ba, which is the universal infant word for bottle. I remember being so thrilled that my darling said something other than Ma-Ma or Da-Da. Shortly after, she said her first brilliant sentence, ‘Ma-Ma Ba-Ba’. I immediately rushed into the kitchen to fill that order.
Big mistake.
If only I knew what unrealistic precedent I was setting for future food orders. If only I knew that this would be just the first in a long line of menu requests to come, not only from her, but also her two siblings. If only I knew how unrelenting and constant those commands would become from my darlings, I would have set up some ground rules, or at least demanded to be tipped. The only tip I received from my little customer after that initial order, was some spit-up on my shoulder.
Now, 9 years later, I wish I had more practical experience at waitressing, because I am still no good at carrying more than 2 plates of chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese at a time. I also am constantly getting drink orders mixed up, much to the displeasure of my clientele.
“No mom, I wanted Lemonade. Donny was the one who asked for milk!” I won’t even get into the riot that ensues when the kitchen is out of a menu item.
The constant barrage of food demands is exhausting and the rudeness of my customers is disheartening. Even at the advanced ages of 9, 7, and 4, they are still lousy tippers. Like a food server’s worst nightmare, they also have the tendency to wait until I have delivered one order to then ask for something else.
The length of time it takes them to decide on what to eat is annoying as well. Peace treaties have been decided in less time. My 7 year old almost always wants a peanut butter sandwich, in fact she eats so much peanut butter that we fear she will soon start sporting a top hat, cane, and monocle.
The alternative is to let my children get the food for themselves. This unfortunately can have the potential of creating more work for me. When you ask a 7 year old to pour a drink for herself from a full pitcher of lemonade, you’re just asking for sticky floors.
That’s where ‘mom the maid’ comes in. If I’m not cooking and serving meals, I’m stooped over, picking up toys, looking like a suburban Quasimoto.
All I know is that God must be almighty, otherwise why would he make our kids so darn cute and precious to us. Honestly, who else would we do this for?
We do what we do, because we love them and some day, when we are old and feeble, the tables will be turned, and it will be our children who will be waiting on us, and perhaps even changing our diapers.
I don’t plan on leaving a tip.

copywrite 2010 cwaldman