McAnnoying

With Kevin gone for a weekend of manly manliness in the remote forest, certain deals had to be made to ensure our survival back home. One such deal involved a helpful, good-listening Holden and the child's equivalent of Heaven on Earth: McDonald's.

Now, I've been known to partake in the occasional Micky D's meal, and enjoy it. But it's just not a place we go to often. For one, it's just not healthy (thank you Supersize Me). Second, the dining experience is, how shall we say.... lacking. Third, I find objectionable and questionable any place that has kids so excited about going, even when those kids have no idea what it is. Call it scary marketing, call it smart marketing. I call it brainwashing.

So, Holden earned dinner Sunday night at the Golden Arches. It didn't seem like a bad deal to me. I got out of cooking and clean-up, got to be the good guy and hoped that the indoor playground would provide some end-of-the-weekend distraction and burn off the last of his wiggles.

We didn't go to the closest outlets, since they didn't have the playground, but to one about 10 minutes away. (Yes, there are probably two or three that are closer). About a block away, Holden grabbed his crotch and announced with urgency: "I've got to peeeeeee!" As I coached him to hold on, I swung the car into a spot and, with lightening speed, unloaded Riley, the stroller, the diaper bag and Holden, ushered them into the restaurant and directed us with undeniable accuracy to the bathroom.

McGross. There was pee all over the toilet and in the bowl which, consequently, wouldn't flush. "Don't touch anything!" I repeated to Holden as he unleashed with a sigh. Now, this is a place that caters to kids - would it kill them to have a sink they can reach? I hoisted him on to the wet, germy, bacteria-filled cesspool of a counter so we could wash our hands. Then we got in line.

McWait. This is fast food? Fifteen minutes later, we had our tray and headed toward the table. Then I had to dash back to get straws, napkins and the very last ketchup packet in the restaurant.

McCrappy. We ate in the playground area. Holden could not have been more pleased with his ChickenNuggetsandFrenchFries (yes, one word, because you can't have one without the other). All around us were hordes of fat, noisy kids, shoveling in this "food" between trips to the play structure where they not so much as played, as pushed each other and screamed. The table was sticky, the trash cans were overflowing and I kept Riley in his stroller so he dare not touch anything!

McCrazy. After Holden horked down his ChickenNuggetsandFrenchFries, he took off his shoes to go play in the structure. Hahahaha. Yeah, this is Holden. "I'm too scared," he said, matter-of-fact. Despite talking all day about how he was going to play in the playground and slide on the slides. So instead, I cringed as I watched him shuffle about on that disgusting floor in his socks playing his with lame-o Happy Meal toy, all while Riley chucked the chicken nuggets from his tray and demanded French fry after French fry. At one point, he protectively clutched three in his fist against his chest while pointing to the bag on the table. What the hell is in this food?

McTired. McDonald's seemed to work it's magic on the kids. Riley, his belly extended full of saturated-fat soaked potatoes, fell asleep without a peep. Holden, adding his Happy Meal toy to his bedtime posse, was nearly in dream land even before we were done singing songs.

I sighed, happy to have made the kids happy after such a good weekend. I resisted the urge to shower the McGrime off me, and instead, ate a carrot.