It has been approximately 13 degrees outside for the past four years, but these children have us sweating like it’s August on the surface of the sun. To begin our adventures, we decided to go out to dinner the other night. And by “decided,” I mean we looked around at 6 pm and realized there was nothing to eat in our house. So out we went to Sam’s, our local sports bar and grill. Not only does Sam’s have good food, which is almost unheard of at a place you can take your kids to, but it also has the world’s largest ceiling fans. If you look closely, the label on the fans reads “Big Ass Fans.” And they aren’t kidding. This is important because staring at the fans occupies Jonas for most of the meal.
So we arrive at Sam’s to find that it is the second half of a big SEC basketball game, and the place is hopping. We are placed on the list and told it will be about 10 minutes until we are seated. This is stretching it, in terms of what our children can tolerate, but we optimistically hope the fans can tide us over. There’s a Big Ass Fan in the waiting area too.
Forty-five minutes later, the situation has reached a level of desperation rarely seen in parentdom. Scotlen has lost patience, and has gone from the relatively tolerable mode of bouncing at 90 miles per hour between the bench, the giant stuffed bear, me, Kyle, and several strangers, to just all out whining and wallowing around. Jonas has long since gotten over the fans, and is constantly twisting in our arms and trying to get down on the ground. We, of course, cannot let this happen, because once he is on the ground it is game over.
I casually walk back to the dining area to check out the situation, only to find that people are finished with their meal and are sitting around just watching the game and drinking beer. At a sports bar. It is difficult to describe my abject horror at discovering this situation. I imagined the Big Ass Fan suddenly plummeting to the ground, crushing these evil people as they sipped their Bud Light.
But instead, we trudged in defeat across the street to the one dinner destination Scotlen had been requesting all night. That’s right. Red Robin. Ugh. But, there were plenty of tables available. At this point, it was basically bedtime, and everyone’s nerves were frazzled. At least we can expect a quick meal at Red Robin, right? I mean, if you can’t do quality burgers, at least you can do them quickly. Right?
No. But what you can do is take 20 minutes to come take our order, and then take another 30 to bring the food. By that time, Jonas had eaten three pounds of goldfish, and Kyle and I had exhausted all of our abilities to entertain the children. Scotlen, God bless her, resorted to painstakingly removing the paper from her crayons. And we resorted to playing Baby Einstein on YouTube for Jonas. It was a small consolation that they gave us our food at half price. The real consolation is that I would rather endure a sweaty, nerve-racking evening waiting on food with these children than have a nice steak dinner on my own.
So we arrive at Sam’s to find that it is the second half of a big SEC basketball game, and the place is hopping. We are placed on the list and told it will be about 10 minutes until we are seated. This is stretching it, in terms of what our children can tolerate, but we optimistically hope the fans can tide us over. There’s a Big Ass Fan in the waiting area too.
Forty-five minutes later, the situation has reached a level of desperation rarely seen in parentdom. Scotlen has lost patience, and has gone from the relatively tolerable mode of bouncing at 90 miles per hour between the bench, the giant stuffed bear, me, Kyle, and several strangers, to just all out whining and wallowing around. Jonas has long since gotten over the fans, and is constantly twisting in our arms and trying to get down on the ground. We, of course, cannot let this happen, because once he is on the ground it is game over.
I casually walk back to the dining area to check out the situation, only to find that people are finished with their meal and are sitting around just watching the game and drinking beer. At a sports bar. It is difficult to describe my abject horror at discovering this situation. I imagined the Big Ass Fan suddenly plummeting to the ground, crushing these evil people as they sipped their Bud Light.
But instead, we trudged in defeat across the street to the one dinner destination Scotlen had been requesting all night. That’s right. Red Robin. Ugh. But, there were plenty of tables available. At this point, it was basically bedtime, and everyone’s nerves were frazzled. At least we can expect a quick meal at Red Robin, right? I mean, if you can’t do quality burgers, at least you can do them quickly. Right?
No. But what you can do is take 20 minutes to come take our order, and then take another 30 to bring the food. By that time, Jonas had eaten three pounds of goldfish, and Kyle and I had exhausted all of our abilities to entertain the children. Scotlen, God bless her, resorted to painstakingly removing the paper from her crayons. And we resorted to playing Baby Einstein on YouTube for Jonas. It was a small consolation that they gave us our food at half price. The real consolation is that I would rather endure a sweaty, nerve-racking evening waiting on food with these children than have a nice steak dinner on my own.
No comments:
Post a Comment