Somewhere in this journey of motherhood I came to be the proprietor of a restaurant.
Concord Café.
I enjoy cooking.
I do not however, enjoy being a short order cook.
That is what I have become, my 3 kids personal chef.
I try and get grab and go breakfast items so that they can serve themselves and spare me having to cook ONE meal.
These three little demanding customers are jerks actually.
They smack and chew with their mouths open which makes me want to jump out of my skin. I have misophonia. The struggle is real.
For dinner, these customers start asking for the menu at 10am, giving themselves ample time to complain about it.
They are charmers, trust me.
We must eat at 5pm or meltdowns will be occurring left and right.
Once the meal is served, one of my three looks like I have served snake surprise and audibly groans.
I clench my teeth and desperately beg them to eat before it gets cold. By this point, what I really want to do is get in the car and drive to Jersey.
I muster up the old adage, "There are people starving right now!" Which is true.
This tactic has yet to work, but I am not against praying for a miracle.
At this point, I am just whispering to myself on loop, 'only a few more hours Cynthia, you got this.'
Upon finishing dinner, whoever actually did finish it, requests immediately for dessert.
Pleas arise to open a certain box of cookies, even though there are two other boxes open.
Ommmmmmmmm only a few more hours Cynthia.
Approximately 15 minutes later, my kids who didn't finish their dinner come downstairs, FAMISHED, for a snack.
Oh that is the other thing, the goddamn SNACKS.
They are constantly snacking.
I should just get a shit ton of snacks and close my quaint Café.
It's not like these patrons even tip.
But then I realize I would miss my little customers, and their stories, their laughter.
So Concord Café will continue to remain open, since none of my kids know how to work the stove, and I want my house to remain standing.
Namaste right here for now.
Xoxo,
C.
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