Even typing that out seems so incorrect. Who on earth, in this day and age, takes their child to the pub?
Whatever about it being ethically wrong (in my opinion) you are leaving yourself wide open for the world and her mother to come down on you in a judgemental avalanche.
Guess what we did Saturday evening? Valentines evening to be exact.
We took our four boys to the pub at 6pm. For a Fizzy Mineral and a Packet of CrispsTM
It wasn’t planned.
We were going into the (empty) lounge from the street entrance and I remember fervently hoping and praying that no-one we knew was driving past. I was a bit embarrassed, if I’m to be honest. I wasn’t totally comfortable and I felt the aforementioned judgement raining down on me.
What happened was we decided to take the boys in for a pizza. We do it every so often as a treat. There is a wonderful Italian restaurant in our hometown and their pizzas are amazing, to say the least. Absolutely scrumptious. Our boys put away a 12” each. With room for ice cream afterwards.
I thought we were being clever with our showing up before 6pm with the intention of being finished in an hour. Just in time for the valentines rush.
Nope. Not clever. All of the tables were booked out.
No room at the inn for a family of six.
So we opted for a takeout instead. It was going to take fifteen minutes and instead of our boys making off with the helium balloons and lifting the romantic trinkets from the many tables, we decided to take them across the road for a drink.
Yes, to the pub.
We don’t even have diluted juice in our house so the opportunity for a fizzy orange was grabbed with both hands.
Smallest Boy isn’t keen though and he had his Mi Wadi. Propped up at the bar between the two of us.
God I love a glass of Guinness.
But it brought back the memories of my previous question and as was par for the course for our generation, both Mister Husband and I would have been “brought” to the pub on special occasions.
Typically after a Communion or a christening. I can remember being brought once because a bottle of port was needed for Christmas baking.
Mister Husband recalled being sick as a, well, dog, after a Communion visit. Lots of friendly people bought him and his siblings packets of Tayto and glasses of orange. He said it wasn’t pretty. I believed him.
And then Lovely Liam sparked another memory when he asked if he could have his pizza in the pub.
Personally I was on for that but of course it wasn’t an option. It did remind me of having a Chinese propped up at the bar in Murphy’s after a Kildare match. We ordered it from the Chinese across the road and Brendan gave us plates and everything.
Those were good times.
So for those who saw us slink into the lounge on Valentines evening, that’s what we were at. Honest. Just killing time. I swear.