Monday morning came like an unwanted solicitor on the front
porch. I was exhausted from the busy weekend, but still wanted to do
something special with GiGi before we left the tall, tall buildings and
traveled back through towns with two stoplights. I sprang to my feet over the course of 5
minutes and took a shower first, then the babe. Around 9:30 am we made our way to a great little punk rock
café in Emeryville and had eggs and toast.
It was a seat yourself kind of a place so I chose the back of the
restaurant and watched the faces of flats and mod dresses look up at me with
mild horror and discomfort. A hip joint
like this doesn’t appear to be swarming with the 2 and under crowd. No one was rude exactly but the vibe in the
room seemed to be muted once GiGi started banging her toy hammer on the table
and chanting “MA-MA-MA-MAMAMA-MA!!”
We snacked merrily and I was delighted when a cute couple
walked in with their two little girls.
The noise they were smacking up halted my little destructo
mid-hammer-swing, and I glanced over with a sigh of relief to finally not be the only noise makers in the joint. They quickly scanned the room with an apology squashed above their eyes like a visor, and when they got to me I handed them an eye-catching
Hi-Five. I tend to applaud parents who just let their
kids be kids during thirty minutes of toast, omlettes, and bottomless coffee.
( Here is my little cup eater. Evidently pancakes aren't as tasty)
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