Reality defeats the dream

A few weeks before Christmas I was reminded of the vast expanse that occupies the space between fantasy and reality. And I'm not referring to anything untoward.

My fantasy was an early dinner out with Mr G and Miss I. There is a pizza restaurant that I love in Bondi called Pompei's. It has been a favourite for a long time and if you know me and live in Sydney chances are I've dragged you there. Several times. Anyway, we didn't have plans for Saturday night and as I left work on Friday afternoon I thought to myself 'Wouldn't it be lovely to head to Pompei's for a 6pm dinner tomorrow night?' I texted Mr G who agreed.

Luckily – or unluckily – he shared my optimism. In my head I imagined it would be a relaxed affair. We'd sit outside, eat pizza, sip white wine, enjoy a balmy summery night, bask in our delightful daughter and engage in some meaningful conversation before retiring home at 7.30pm to pop Miss I into bed and watch a DVD.

Reality elbowed its way into my dinner and let me tell you it wasn't as I had imagined. At all. For a start, we were running a bit late which meant Miss I was already hungry when we arrived. This also meant the car ride - although short – wasn't altogether relaxing. By this I mean Miss I was crying so naturally Mr G and I channelled our frustrations into some constructive bickering about where the best spot to find a park might be. Fun times. Already!

Before we were even seated I ordered a pasta dish for Miss I and two glasses of wine that were not for Miss I. Sadly neither of these arrived soon enough. Did I mention that Miss I was grumpy and hungry? And she wasn't alone. We weren't the only deluded parents who thought an early dinner at Pompei's was a good idea. The restaurant was filled with families like ours. With children as hungry, grumpy and vocal as ours. And the thing is even if they don't belong to you, listening to other small children bang tables, swipe cutlery to the floor, cry and yell in unison with your own, is acutely stressful. Wine, please, waiter!

Eventually we were all fed and watered but needless to say there was no basking in the joys of family life and certainly no meaningful conversation exchanged. That is until we were driving home and Mr G and I were united. What were we thinking??? And why, oh, why didn't we get a babysitter???

PS. I'm embarrassed to say the very next afternoon delusions once again interfered with my better judgement. The three of us went Christmas shopping. Together. To Westfield on a wet Sunday afternoon in December. Never again.