How Kids See Us: Losing Our S… in a Restaurant.

You know that feeling when you’re meeting friends for a “nice lunch” - the kind where adults get to have a real conversation and the kids just… behave?

Yeah. That one.

We had four adults, four kids, and a lot of optimism. The restaurant had a small play area, which — to the kids — was basically Disneyland. Add in new surroundings, unfamiliar food, and a bit of excitement about friends visiting from abroad, and we had a perfect storm of curiosity, questions, and toilet trips.

And so it began.

“Mummy, can I go to the toilet?”
“Can I go to the play area?”
“Can I go to the toilet again?”
“When can we go to the play area?”

Every few seconds, a new question. Every few minutes, another small person needing to “just go quickly.” My daughter went three times. The adults, meanwhile, tried desperately to hold on to a normal conversation. Then came the moment.

One of the mums snapped.

“I am going to lose my s… if you don’t stop with all these questions!”

Silence. Four sets of wide eyes.

Now here’s what’s interesting - from the kids’ perspective, this whole situation looked completely different.

While we were trying to catch up, they were sitting there, thinking:
“Why are the adults so boring? They’re just talking and talking.”
“Why can’t they play with us?”
“There’s so much to see! That play area! That funny lamp! The man at the counter with the giant dessert!”

They weren’t trying to test our patience - they were trying to engage with the world around them. They were excited, overstimulated, curious. Going to the toilet wasn’t just about going to the toilet - it was a socially acceptable way to get up, move around, and explore this fascinating new space.

And when parents start to sound frustrated or annoyed, kids don’t really understand why. From their point of view, we’ve stopped being fun. We’ve stopped noticing them. We’ve become those boring grown-ups who care more about talking than about playing.

Here’s the thing:
Kids don’t yet have the skills to handle excitement, waiting, or social settings where the focus isn’t on them. They want to do the right thing - but they don’t always know how. That’s not misbehaviour; that’s inexperience.

Our job isn’t to make them stop asking questions - it’s to teach them how to navigate these moments.

That might look like setting expectations before you go in:

“We’ll chat for a bit, and then you can check out the play area.”

Or giving them a role:

“Can you be the person who reminds me when ten minutes are up?”

Or simply remembering that play is how children learn - even in restaurants. When they play, they’re experimenting with social rules, boundaries, and self-control.

The more we can see things through their eyes, the more patience we find. And the easier it becomes to teach from connection rather than correction.

Because when we stop long enough to see what’s really going on - the excitement, the curiosity, the need to belong - we realize they’re not being difficult. They’re just being kids.

And we? We’re the ones learning too.

💡 “How Kids See Us” is a new series about the small, chaotic, beautiful moments that test our patience — and teach us how to parent with more connection, not control. Stay tuned for the next one.