Thursday, October 13, 2011


So, when we were in Cape Town, one afternoon Felix had a lazy 3.5-hour holiday afternoon snooze that meant he would probably be good for laughs up till 9.30pm or so. A quick question into the Faceboook and Twitter cloud revealed a Spur and a Mike's Kitchen in the vicinity. We left sleeping Richie with my mom, and revealed to a delighted Felix that *he* did not have to bath or go to bed, because we were going IN THE DARK to a RESTAURANT!

He was surprised, then confused, then delighted. All the way in the car he said to himself in astonishment, "We are going to a WEStwant. In the DARK. Just Felix. And Mommy. And Daddy."

We got to Canal Walk, located the Spur. I was all ready to defend myself to bystanders. "He slept all afternoon. He's on HOLIDAY! He won't be a problem at all. I know it's late.!

Then we saw the queue. Monday night, Cape Town. 8pm. The bouncer asked us, "You want the kiddie area? It's about a ten-minute wait." (Actually he called it something funky and branded, like the Playzone. I'm not down with the lingo.) You had to wait to get into the Spur - the kiddie section!

People and their kids were everywhere. The point at which the Spur staff broke out into a Macarena-style snake dance round the tables, which was relayed via a giant TV screen in the Playzone, was probably the point at whihc it all got a little weird for me.

But my boy child loved it. We went, we slid, we trampolined. Felix selected his own snack from the kiddies menu (not one but two ice creams - because the one with the marshmallows did not look like a clown, and vice versa.) We had such fun. We created, in the process, a monster.

Now Felix has discovered our local Wimpy. It has a small tunnel/helicopter/aeroplane climbable thing. He accompanies me on every shopping trip so he can go on it. But I hadn't realised just how cognisant and protective of the restaurant protocol my child is. Last time we were there, he was yearning to climb on to the climbing frame. I told him he was welcome to go. "But I still waiting for my FOOD," he answered. Oh, I see. There is ritual here, of course there is, he's almost three. How could there not be?

Today, I fetched him from school and he asked me in a quiet, shy voice if we could go to the restaurant. My heart turned to mush. Of course we can, my boykie. There is no end to the amount of polysaturated fats Mom will consume for you. (Of course I've been dry heaving through the past 24 hours with a tummy bug that is hopefully almost at the end of its life span, so greasy chips it is!)

Lemme go and wake the little bugger up.

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