After Saturday’s meet-up with other Toronto BlogHers, we went to meet Chris’ dad since he lives nearby and we hadn’t seen him in a few weeks.  We went down to the Beaches for lunch at a place with a great patio called Lion on the Beach.

This really isn’t a terribly interesting story, but since I got some comments about it…

I ordered the loaded nachos.  Which really, I mean, I must be crazy, because 1) I have a baby in my lap 2) they’re messy when eaten as finger food and pretentious if you use utensils 3) the portion is not made to be eaten by one person, even a breastfeeding mommy.  But I do love me some nachos, so I ignored all of those things and went for them.  Oh, and a Smirnoff Ice because really, don’t I deserve one on a beautiful day while sitting on a  patio?

Maia was amazing throughout most of the meal, although she got hungry once our food arrived and so out popped my boobie.  I had figured she would want to eat and had only taken two sips of the Smirnoff in anticipation.  Next to us was a little boy that was maybe two years old, and he was fascinated by Maia nursing.  He had no idea what she was doing and kept staring, which didn’t bother me at all… I thought it was kinda sweet!

When she finished nursing, she got grabby.  Of course.  I mean, a plate of nachos is pretty colourful.  You know what else is colourful?

Guacamole.

Despite me stopping her from grabbing it at least three times, she finally darted her hand around mine with a finesse that would have made a mongoose proud, grabbed that guacamole, and threw it all over herself.  On her shirt.  On her jeans.  On MY jeans.  I had to laugh, because I tell you, she was determined to get that stuff, and she got it (although I dread what this stubbornness indicates for later in our life… maybe it’ll manifest as a drive to succeed rather than a drive to get around Mommy and Daddy’s rules.  One can hope, right?).

Once we had cleaned it up, Chris took her and went to go sit by his dad so I could eat and they could bond.  That’s when I snapped the above picture.

Then Chris asked me to pass his beer over. It was an Alexander Keith’s Pale Ale … keyword being “was”.

Clearly, after twenty-six years and five months of life, I should know how to pick up a glass.  Yet I break one at least weekly, which is why we have plastic cups in the house for me… seriously… a phenomenon explained by the fact that I SLAPPED THE BEER GLASS with the back of my hand, sending a torrent of beer across the table and into my father-in-law’s lap.

Fortunately, he laughed.  Chris scowled.  I picked up the glass, which retained barely half an inch of liquid, and set it in front of Chris with all the dignity I could muster.  “Here’s your beer, honey,” I said.

But deep down inside I wanted to spill the rest on him because really, how is it that he’s the only one who ended up escaping from food or drink getting spilled on his clothing?