A few weeks ago we traveled from Michigan to North Carolina on vacation. This happened while en route. I wrote it on Facebook while driving, and wanted to share it here too.
The Sagebrush Steakhouse in Wytheville, Virginia, will never be the same. We felt like we had met our disaster quota for the meal within our first few minutes when Tobin yanked on his bowl of cereal in Kevin's hands and sent it flying through the air. Oatmeal everywhere. Waitstaff bringing us extra napkins. Our table was covered in the garbage of aftermath. Then it happened. Tobin's face turned red. He prefers to poop at home, he waits to be in comfortable surroundings, but he must have decided to throw in the towel at the ole Sagbrush. Kevin, knowing that I haven't slept in a few nights because I have been tending to T and his cold, offered to do what we both feared. Kevin pulled him out of his high hair, and said, "I feel the warmth, that's not good". I sat there with Hackett enjoying the peace, but it was brief. Perhaps the southern men aren't as willing to get dirty like my Midwestern saint of a husband, but now the doom of the hot pants were my problem. We fumbled Tobin and the necessary gear, creating our second large scene in 10 minutes. As I carried him I felt his pant leg squish. The horror. I laid him on the changing table, took a deep breath, and did what I had to do. It was everywhere. Like, EVERYWHERE. I was nearing the end of wipes and thought I has made it. I had somehow done it, sure his outfit and onesie were in the garbage, but we had overcome against all odds. I began digging through my bag. Digging. Searching. No diaper. I had very few options, I didn't think the Sagebrush patrons would appreciate seeing a 22 pound naked baby whiz by their table. So we just stood outside the bathroom door together, until we found someone to get Kevin.
By the time Tobin and I returned to the table Hackett's food had arrived and been devoured. I returned to the scene of the crime to clean up and ask the hostess to kindly change the garbage. As I left the bathroom I was thankful to never have to be in there again, but I was wrong. Hackett felt like it was necessary to put his own Soper stamp on the Sagebrush, and I agreed after the largest flatulent vibrated our booth (and most likely the people sitting in the adjoining booth behind us). Kevin and I hung our shaking heads, then high fived and laughed. This is what family vacations are about. My only regret was ordering a sweet tea, instead of a Long Island.
The Sagebrush Steakhouse in Wytheville, Virginia, will never be the same. We felt like we had met our disaster quota for the meal within our first few minutes when Tobin yanked on his bowl of cereal in Kevin's hands and sent it flying through the air. Oatmeal everywhere. Waitstaff bringing us extra napkins. Our table was covered in the garbage of aftermath. Then it happened. Tobin's face turned red. He prefers to poop at home, he waits to be in comfortable surroundings, but he must have decided to throw in the towel at the ole Sagbrush. Kevin, knowing that I haven't slept in a few nights because I have been tending to T and his cold, offered to do what we both feared. Kevin pulled him out of his high hair, and said, "I feel the warmth, that's not good". I sat there with Hackett enjoying the peace, but it was brief. Perhaps the southern men aren't as willing to get dirty like my Midwestern saint of a husband, but now the doom of the hot pants were my problem. We fumbled Tobin and the necessary gear, creating our second large scene in 10 minutes. As I carried him I felt his pant leg squish. The horror. I laid him on the changing table, took a deep breath, and did what I had to do. It was everywhere. Like, EVERYWHERE. I was nearing the end of wipes and thought I has made it. I had somehow done it, sure his outfit and onesie were in the garbage, but we had overcome against all odds. I began digging through my bag. Digging. Searching. No diaper. I had very few options, I didn't think the Sagebrush patrons would appreciate seeing a 22 pound naked baby whiz by their table. So we just stood outside the bathroom door together, until we found someone to get Kevin.
By the time Tobin and I returned to the table Hackett's food had arrived and been devoured. I returned to the scene of the crime to clean up and ask the hostess to kindly change the garbage. As I left the bathroom I was thankful to never have to be in there again, but I was wrong. Hackett felt like it was necessary to put his own Soper stamp on the Sagebrush, and I agreed after the largest flatulent vibrated our booth (and most likely the people sitting in the adjoining booth behind us). Kevin and I hung our shaking heads, then high fived and laughed. This is what family vacations are about. My only regret was ordering a sweet tea, instead of a Long Island.
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