On Thursday Dan called me up from work, and asked if I wanted to go out to dinner that evening. We decided to take the kids with us as a sort of celebration that Coleman had gone 2 days without a potty accident (yay!!) and Will and Maggie had both made it a whole day of preschool without being put into time-out or throwing enormous tantrums (double yay!!).
We never take the kids to actual restaurants with waiters, menus, more than one fork, or any type of ambiance whatsoever. We have been known to go places where our children can drop pizza on the floor or drink fry sauce while they roll around on the table holding 49 cent ice cream cones. We feel at home there. Probably because every time our children eat anything they end up looking like this:
But in the name of celebration we took our children to a certain Italian restaurant that happens to be a favorite of mine. Rhymes with Bolive Marden. The kids were surprisingly amazing. They ate their food. They sat in their chairs. They made hilarious conversation and when they got the wiggles they amused themselves by climbing around the booth (as opposed to running around the restaurant tripping waiters as I observed one child to do). Dan made it his personal mission to eat enough of the never ending pasta bowl so that he could brag about it to the guys at work. 7 bowls. Extremely respectable. And when our waiter realized that he'd brought me salad and forgotten my zuppa toscana, he gave me a bowl of it to take home. It was a perfect night. He even gave us 15 mints. 15. I know. When you haven't been to a restaurant for 3 years I guess you're easily pleased by things like mints and take home bowls of soup.
We headed home after our enjoyable dinner and not 15 steps out the door, Will puked. We're talking a puddle of pasta that covered the sidewalk. It was horrific. But Dan and I laughed really hard (what else can you do?) and picked up the puker and took off for the car. We stripped Will down, got the kids strapped in the car, and Coleman takes the opportunity to join his brother by spraying down the car's interior with vomit. What the? Maggie started crying about how bad it smelled. I heartily agreed. So we rolled down the windows and took the stench wagon home for a good shampooing and a good soak in the tub for the pukers.
We will most likely never dine at Bolive Marden again. Sad...