Olive Garden

So, I was at Olive Garden this week.

Twice.

Two VERY different experiences ...

Monday night I was included in a "Moms' Night Out" with a group of ladies from church. We all looked our best--I actually did my eye make up and blow dried my hair--laughed a lot, talked about nursing and exercise, and poopy diapers. The bartender, who served us while we waited for our table, seemed happy to have us around.

Fast forward to Thursday evening.

I walk into Olive Garden, this time in work out clothes (though I was nice enough to change my sweats for jeans, and squirt some perfume. Hey--at least I tried.) This time, I have a 9 month old on my hip--who's still in his sleeper, mind you, from the night before--a diaper bag dangling from my shoulder, hair swept into a messy pony tail, and dried baby food crusted to my fingernails. Instead of other care free young Moms my age, this time I'm with my parents (carefree and wonderful as they are, probably not as exciting for the bartender) and my three teenaged sisters. (Too young for the bartender.)

Said bartender from Monday night catches my eye. Recognition, and slight confusion, floats across his face. I caught his eye back, smiled, and turned to focus on my son, thinking how strange it is to have these seemingly different personas.

And talk about a different evening! Instead of browsing the menu, relaxing in my chair, and sharing antics of Joshua with my friends, I rescued Blackberrys, hid knives, picked up bread, pushed away water glasses, untangled spaghetti noodles, cut up tomato, wiped messes, and never relaxed once in my seat. All while conversing with my family and attempting to feed myself.

Two very different evenings. One fabulous life.