On Saturday, I made a suggestion to my husband that we go out for dinner. The obstacle to going out over the past two months has been our itty bitty baby, but Charlie has proven to be about the easiest, most serene infant I have ever met. He smiles, he coos, he cries a bit when he is hungry, whimpers if he has a wet diaper, and then sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. Maybe it is a false sense of security, but I do not have that underlying fear that something is going to go wrong with Charlie and cause us to turn right around and go home - the explosive diaper, the outfit soaking spit-up, or just plain inconsolable fussiness. So with the baby factor under control, it would appear the family was ready for its first public appearance.
So the next day (because it takes a full 24 hours for plans with a young family to come to fruition), we set out to have lunch at The Pop Shop in Collingswood, New Jersey. I did internet research on the most child-friendly restaurants in Philadelphia and polled friends to get their opinions. One reviewer on Urban Spoon even said, "What a great choice for people who like to have some fun and bring the kids, or just act like one! We discovered after making this choice that they had been featured on Bobby Flay's Challenge for making the best grilled cheese." The Pop Shop was the unanimous winner and our meal there was going to be perfect.
The Pop Shop would be the kind of place that would seat you quickly so you would not have to corral your children in the waiting area for 30 or more minutes answering their unanswerable questions with lies, it would have crayons and puzzle placemats at the table for the kids so the kids would stay seated at the table, the kids would draw quietly instead of unwrapping every set of utensils and banging them on the table or trying to eat salt and pepper, it would have food that our picky, pokey eaters would eat enthusiastically and then William would even ask to try a bite of our meals, it would have food for parents that was not breaded, fried, and smothered in cheese, the food would come out before the kids had a chance to slurp down their chocolate milks causing them to ask for another drink before taking one bite and most importantly, the restaurant would be filled with fellow parents that also understand the challenges of taking young children out to eat. There would be no withering looks of disapproval silently saying, "What kind of a parent are you? You need to control your children." Instead, moms and dads around the room would catch one another's eye and nod empathetically, "I'm right there with you. It ain't easy. You are a great mom and hey, your unwashed hair looks fantastic."
Well, as fate would have it, that is not what happened. We had to wait 30 minutes for a table during which time William and Joseph acted out every battle scene from Star Wars (which they watched for the first time the night before.) Keeping the two of them separated in the cramped waiting space proved to be impossible. I guess it wasn't so bad as they only tripped three servers and Joseph, who is only four, entertained us with impressions of James Earl Jones as Darth Vader. "William, I am your father."
Once seated and strategically separated by Jesse, the boys proceeded to whine about how hungry they were, periodically slumping onto the tables from starvation in between their desperate pleas for food. Their chocolate milks arrived and were consumed ten minutes before their meals arrived. Once their pigs in a blanket and cheese bits arrived, they had lost their appetites and we had to beg them to take each. and. every. bite.
Also notable was the wobbly table which caused Jesse's coffee to spill every time Joseph tried to crawl under the table to get next to William. Jesse ordered the Chicken and Waffles which was sent back because it was an anemic looking platter consisting of one waffle and one chicken strip for $10. Something happened to me when we crossed the Walt Whitman Bridge into New Jersey because instead of ordering a omelet, a salad and an iced tea, I ordered a vanilla coke and this:
This sensible sandwich is called "The Grease Truck." Yeah, that's right. The sandwich's description, Mini Angus beef burgers, foot-long hot dog, French fries, onion rings,American cheese, ketchup, mustard, lettuce, tomato, on a foot-long roll. Served with a pickle and cole slaw, was too enticing for me to pass up. All of my favorite indulgences on a bun (all it was missing was mozzarella sticks and hot fudge.) And, in what consider a victory for women everywhere, I was the first female to ever order it (from my server.)
By the time my grease truck pulled in, the boys had managed to rearrange themselves so they were seated next to one another, Joseph had almost tripped a waiter carrying a pot of hot coffee (inset withering look of disapproval here,) the pigs had been eaten and the blankets discarded, the chocolate milk was gone, the crayons had been broken and the campaign for ice cream had begun. In other words, lunch was over. It was time to go.
Two lessons were learned during this outing. 1) You cannot take two little boys, more specifically brothers, out to lunch and expect them to behave. They are best friends and worst enemies. They turn from one to another in an instant. Just as you would never bring a cat and a dog, a left-wing Democrat and right-wing Republican, or a Phillies fan and a Yankees fan to dinner, you cannot bring four and six year old brothers and expect to have a leisurely, quiet meal. 2) The Grease Truck is not meant to be eaten in five bites.
There is one thing I now I can rely on though. When we go out, I can count on Charlie to do this:
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