Eating Out

It was a good night for pizza.  Dr. Peds suggested that we go to Pizza Hut, because we don’t think we’ve ever taken our kids there.  In fact, we couldn’t actually remember going to Pizza Hut together ever, even though we both have vivid memories of frequenting Pizza Hut very often when we were kids ourselves.  It was the place to eat!  A visit to Pizza Hut was always wild and crazy and fun, no matter if you were with your family or some big group of people.

We drove to a Pizza Hut that looked like it hadn’t had a renovation since we were kids.  It was like stepping back in time.  We squeezed into a booth, all six of us.

Then we reached back and unplugged the distracting television in the corner behind us when the waitress wasn’t looking.  We are rebels.

In the name of nostalgia, we let the kidlets have pop, although we were kind of disappointed that the pop couldn’t be ordered in a pitcher anymore.

Mr. Trouble on Feet had milk.  He was pretty excited that it came in a box.

Of course, that many hungry  people squeezed elbow to elbow in a booth means craziness.  People were crawling under the table to switch places.  Paper straw wrappers were flying around.  Kidlets were bopping around on the seat (it doesn’t take long for the sugar rush of pop to kick in).   YaYa was trying to pretend she didn’t know us.  She also wasn’t thrilled that I was documenting our trip to Pizza Hut.  Luckily she has a great dad.

Mr. Trouble on Feet had to make several trips to the bathroom during the course of dinner.  He was quite enamored with the facilities.  That reminded me to ask Dr. Peds if he had ever seen a urinal in a public restroom with a fly decal on it for people to aim at.  Eric Carle, the famous children’s illustrator, designed a cute little fly decal for public urinals, and studies have shown it decreases spillage by 80% or more.  I was wondering if they are commonplace in men’s restrooms.  Apparently they aren’t.  Dr. Peds had never even run across one before.

YaYa was even MORE mortified about this dinner table conversation.  There weren’t even any other people in the restaurant at this point, but she was begging at us to just stop.

By the end of the meal Mr. Trouble on Feet had red pizza sauce smeared all over his face.  Because I was sitting next to him I had pizza sauce all over my sweatshirt.  The food was mostly gone.  Our patient waitress had been paid, and we were out the door and in the van, on our way home with a quick stop at the fabric store for YaYa.

See, we aren’t such bad parents after all.