On Angie's birthday we went to Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. Right?? I could hardly believe it either. We get there and valet and walk into this majestic castle of a place and as we walk to our destination I cant remember stepping on a single crayon or peanut shell or spoon or child throwing a fit in the middle of the walkway. As a matter of fact there wasn't a single kid there! We are offered four different water choices! uh... city water... and a glass of wine. (yeah right like I'm going to pay for water I'm not even going to drink water. We have no kids!) We were definitely taking advantage of this night of adulthood. The food was fabulous and 500 of our personal waiters were charming and we had a very quiet expensive dinner. Just the two of us! I still can't believe it. Especially after this fiasco...
Activity free night. Brought to you by schools that shove sports, PTO meetings, Fundraisers and homework down our throats every night of the week and weekend actually wants us to take a day off from it all. Spend quality time with our families, they say. It will be relaxing, they say. Take your kiddos to a restaurant that leaves giant buckets of loose peanuts on the table and serves unlimited amounts of bread, they say. All right.
As we are being seated at the restaurant, Paul makes a point to touch and contaminate every seat on the way to ours. Both of them fight over who gets to sit by who (when we all know that Paul sits next to me and Alex sits next to Angie) Its always been this way but its like your side of the bed. You know which is your side of the bed. It always has been , but every once in awhile you try out the other side... just in case. Anyway.. once Paul realizes he is once again going to choose to sit next to me, he notices the bread and butter in the middle of the table. There goes any chance of getting them to eat the meal the cooks in the back just slaved over for these rotten mongrels. ( I feel like I have to keep reiterating how much I LOVE LOVE LOVE my snot rockets) They drive me absolutely bat sh*t crazy at least once a day. For a split second at the restaurant Angie and I actually thought about hiding around the corner when the kids came out of the restroom just to see how they'd react if they thought we had left them. Just for fun. Our fun. To watch them run around in sheer panic. Just for a minute. Now I'm wishing I could go back and bring our childish thoughts to life.
And since I'm not allowed to wear my fat pants in public, I'm sitting here writing this in the only jeans that fit (until I eat), unbuttoned. You're welcome. But now it's time for me to get into my fat pants, sit on the couch and listen to my 4 year old come down stairs once every 2.4 seconds to ask for a drink, and to pee, and to eat, and to tell us that his finger hurts, and that his two week old scab is bleeding, and that we have the TV up too loud, and that hes scared, and that hes hot, and that hes cold until he cries himself to sleep.
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