Dinner time

Yesterday we left the house at 5pm to go check out Off the Grid--a gathering of food trucks in downtown Walnut Creek. My cousin is in town and I wanted to show him a little of the life out here. Plus I needed to feed myself and him and the kids. . . so it seemed like a good plan. We got some looks.

The kids were fussy when we arrived; one was asleep. We rarely leave the house in the evening. My cousin and I held toddler hands and pushed the double Bob, trying to converse. I love food trucks--that's my favorite way to eat, tasting different flavors, getting to choose from among a host of different options. Expecting everything we do to reach some level of chaos, I have a hard time differentiating between what will be hard but doable and what will be just plain silly for us to attempt. Can't quite say where this experience fell.

For the most part we camped out in a shady spot between the front of the hot dog truck and the back of the lobsta roll truck. I forgot to put shoes on the little girls because I'm still adjusting to the reality that they are almost walking. In short order the soles of their feet were black with dirt. People walking by looked curiously at the little girl crawling on the dirty cement, a pork dumpling in one hand, remnants of curry chicken smeared on her face and shirt. My son wore a a dress--sky blue with white swans and a lace collar, pulled on over a blue polo shirt and plaid shorts. His buzz cut is growing out but he was unquestionably a little boy wearing a dress. We got some looks.

My kids took turns crawling under the large, shiny bumper of the hot dog truck. My husband came to meet us and we three adults took turns balancing a child, taking bites, and taking in the scene. I saw a mom I know from my moms' group. As we left, I ran into two of my former co-workers. They stood in the frozen custard line as I scrambled to get us out of the crowd. We stopped to chat a bit and they admired my filthy, adorable children. I wasn't sweating, which I sometimes do when things get really tough. I go into tunnel vision mode--must get out of here. Wasn't quite at that point but was getting close. A band was playing, people had to step back to make room for the stroller, it seemed the looks we were getting had more kindness than before. . .was that true or had my perception shifted?

At one point, before we left, as I sat on the dirty ground in front of the hot dog truck my two-year-old feeding me forkfuls of curry, my one-year-old crawling into and out of my lap seemingly for the sole purpose of rubbing food and grease onto as many parts of me as possible, I took a deep breath and pulled my shoulders down from around my ears. Was I having fun? Not really. At least not in a way I would have formerly recognized as fun. Yeah, no. I still wouldn't call it fun. But with the deep breath and the rolling of the shoulders I brought myself back to myself. With happy kids, tasting different tastes, in a sea of people. Nothing we do is easy.