chipotle

Let’s start with the juicy and messy story, shall we? I had had a day of it so decided to spend our once-a -month-or-so eating out budget on Chipotle last night. It’s a mere four blocks away so I loaded up the stroller and bundled everyone up and off we trotted. They managed to say polite in line and we made our way to the closest available table as my double stroller couldn’t weave to the far corner, where we probably belonged to contain everyone. I stashed the stroller and all the hats, mittens, and coats in a corner-ish spot while hissing to the toddler/baby/whatever you call a 22 month old to STAY ON YOUR BOTTOM. The hipster dude a table over with wireless headphones didn’t even look up, so I figured I was doing a great job. Then came the juggling of the tray that the kind cashier had stacked the meals on–in an attempt to make more space at the table, I urged my oldest, eight going on 15 (the eye-rolling kinda out-to-lunch but super sweet kind of 15 year old) to set it over there on top of the trash but not in the trash and now that I’ve poured apple juice for everyone, please also, put the jar in the recycling area, again, not in the trash. He went to set his big burrito down to do this task. He somehow dropped it face down on the ground instead of inside his recyclable dish. As I reached over to…