Ketchup? No thank you.

We went out to dinner the other night at our favorite Mexican food restaurant. It was early, 4:30 or so, and the place was empty except for two other tables that were occupied. In my line of sight was a young mom and dad with a new baby, and a boy around age four who sat next to his mom.

I couldn't see the baby at first because she was in a carrier, which was covered by a lightweight pink blanket. But I could hear her. A tiny little cry, not at all annoying but, in my world view, actually a sweet sound. When the dad took her out of the carrier and rested her over one shoulder, I couldn't take my eyes off her adorable face and those tiny pink fingers that wrapped around one of her father's fingers.

The mom saw me watching with a smile on my face. I said, "I'm really not a stalker, I just love babies." She laughed and we exchanged a few more words of social content. I made it a point to ask the baby's name, age, etc., and added "She's lucky to have a big brother. Big brother's are very important!" The four-year-old beamed.

I then began paying more attention to him. I'm not sure what he was eating, but whatever it was apparently needed ketchup, and his parents let him pour it on for himself, telling him when to stop. They then turned their attention back to their own plates, and that was when I saw the little guy pick up the ketchup bottle, put it to his lips, lick it and quickly set it back down. I laughed out loud, (glad that I'm not a person who puts ketchup on my Mexican food)!

Frank and I chatted a bit as we ate our meal, but occasionally I checked in visually to see how the little family was doing. The baby was asleep and put back in her carrier, and the boy, done with his food, was getting restless so he climbed down from his chair and wandered to the unoccupied table next to them, where he layed back on a chair looking up at the underneath of the table. He reached up, grabbed something, and pulled.

A looooong skinny strand of chewed gum followed his hand, stuck to his fingers, and, delighted, he said, "Daddy! Look!" Frank and I were both laughing as his mom took the little guy to the restroom to wash his hands. Our waiter showed up at that moment with our bill, and I said, pointing to the strand of gray gunk drooping toward the floor, "You have some chewing gum to clean up." He made quick work of it, as the father apologized.

Frank stuck some bills in the folder on our table, and as we walked by the family I'd been watching I stopped, put my hand on the dad's shoulder, smiled, and said, "Thanks for the entertainment. It was great."

I'll watch for them next time I eat there, but what are the odds I could get that lucky again? Just the memory of them will bring a smile to my lips, I'm sure, and will remind me not to use the ketchup.