Toddler mum...

Silver serving dishes perfectly aligned with the flame cans burning brightly yellow and blue underneath, plates lying on top of each other sitting pretty but very idle and serving spoons clinging close by on a table well laid with a striking red table cloth as if sending warning signals to my brain, that something is in the area, prepare thyself! And adrenaline mode we went.

Seeing that it was, that everyday happy hour when the mouth can initiate that eating joy ride, there was humoungous anticipation in the eyes of everyone I turned to. They had come looking to choose, pick and pay. The mood in what was supposed to be a place of refilling, refreshment, joy and sweats for some, was rather a sombre one. We walked up to the counter anyway, to place an order, only to be shown criss cross arm signals with what felt like a little guilty whisper, "not ready yet."

Now, you know a hungry man is also an angry man so the disappointment that clouded us was really heavy and getting back to the sitting area to attempt to wait felt no different than the walk of shame. 

A few minutes into waiting, we saw the waiting personnel approach the serving table and when we squeezed our eyes a little harder to see what was being served, we could only see desserts being brought on, perfect example of the scripture that says, "the first shall be the last" and vice versa. That meant you could see something you could eat but couldn't dare to touch it because there was the MVP still enroute. 

I, for one couldn't take it no more and my face was getting puffy about it. Then I remembered what turned now into the joys of being a toddler's mum, you carry snacks around like a moving vending machine. I dashed to the backpack, got enough milk packs to feed my 3 and a half man crew. It was gallop after gallop from then on, we waited fairly better now for the MVP's arrival which didn't dissapoint once it came through. What was toddler baggage had now become a toddler blessing.