Here we are.
McDonalds on a Friday night. A parent graveyard. The shrieking of our children echos around the indoor playground… children who absolutely should not have that much energy for the amount of activities they did that day.
We meet eyes with other parents. There is shame, there is amusement- at least the end of our road is found in good company. We make lighthearted jokes about how we don’t care if socks match or kids have clothes on backward. Two dads out with their kids bump fists in solidarity. But no one… none of the parental apparitions address the ugliest phantom in the room. What in blue blazes are we doing at McDonalds on a Friday night?
How did we get here? How did we get to this point? In our former lives, we’d dress up and talk about things that don’t matter and taste our food. Did we say, “Hmmm…. McDonalds has some delicious and nutritious cuisine?” No. Did we say “I think our favorite band is playing tonight at McDonalds?” Nope. I’ll tell you why the golden arches got our cash on a Friday night. Every meal served comes with a huge side of sanity. Oooey gooey dripping sanity.
We get our number (whatever) meal and sit down at the kids play area. We exhale after the stressful work day and activities. One of us bounces the baby while the other one eats. The boys can get up and down and run around and no one has to remind anyone else of rules or to sit quiet and don’t disturb the other patrons. I bite into my McChicken and dunk my fries in more sanity. All of a sudden I realize I am so hungry. What did I eat today? Did I even eat lunch? I really can’t remember. Dave and I stare at points behind each others’ heads, silently munching and trying to force our ears to stop ringing from the fit-throwing and crying and whining that was going on in the car a mere 10 minutes earlier. Everyone is happy, fed and playing with their new toys from their happy meal.
“Look mom, a blaster!,” yells Sammy as he takes his toy and points it at me making ray-gun sounds. I start to tell him it wasn’t a blaster but to him… it is. I am silently seething knowing that it will be another irritating little random toy that wanders around the house. I force those thoughts away as the happy kids dance around. The other parents start to pick up and leave one by one and everyone has the same thought: “Ugh. I have to go home and tackle bedtime. Maybe they’ll fall asleep in the car.” But we’re all lying to ourselves. We know it won’t happen.
We pile all of the kids in the car and I smile at a place that held so much joy for me as a kid. Thanks McDs. Your delicious sanity was just what this tired family needed. Those of us who work the family graveyard shift salute you. Here’s to a smooth bedtime and a silent prayer to their Creator that all of the little angel-goblins will sleep through the night.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
