Birthday Fun or Back in the Saddle or What a Father Will Do For His Kids

This post was brought to you by a big beefy steer.

First, let me preface this story by saying I am a hippie at heart.  I don't eat a ton of red meat, don't care for country music, or own a truck or any clothing with the American Flag on it.  These are important details later.

Saturday was Dan's 39th birthday.  Though things have been going fairly well around here, we were ready for a night out sans children.  This becomes apparent when you converse more through text messaging than you do in person.  We were all set for a movie, dinner and drinks, but alas, the Thing That Seems to Happen To Us More Than Most People Happened:  the sitter called and cancelled.  Down the list we went, but to no avail.  No uninterrupted conversation for us.

The two of us kind of moped around for a good part of the afternoon, as the "sorry I can't help you" calls rolled in.  We decided to go out anyway, with the kids, to Pizza Luce, a favorite haunt.  I rummaged through a collection of gift cards I have, knowing I had one for Luce, and stumbled across one for Texas Roadhouse that I'd received as a going away present last spring.  The idea struck me that this might make for an interesting night.  Neither of us had been there before.  Now, of all the places I can think of that I would like to visit least in the world, Texas might be first on the list.  A roadhouse might be up in the top ten.  A visit to an establishment like this is probably normalcy for many Americans, but for us it would become kitschy goodness.  Hippies in a Hotbed of Country Lovin' Folks.  I presented the idea to Dan, and with a giggle, he agreed.  I went upstairs and changed into a jean skirt, boots and a funny old pink cowgirl shirt I've held on to for some reason, just to kick it up a notch.

When we arrived to check in on our "call ahead seating," we almost bailed for two reasons.  First, the music and dull roar of the crowd inside made Rowan stop in his tracks.  He absolutely would NOT cross the threshold.   Second, as I peered in, I noticed PEANUT SHELLS all over the floor.  Oh great, I thought, not only are we in for a Sensory Overload experience with Rowan, but we'll get a bonus round of anaphylactic shock with the other kid.  Happy Birthday, Daddy.  Somehow we overcame these obstacles as Rowan was calmed by our reassurance and the presence of the epi-pen in the backpack was verified.

Once we were settled and seated, it actually ended up being the perfect place for our little family.  The music wasn't too loud, and the crowd translated as more of a white noise, which kept Rowan in check.  Plus, our kids could be their normal boisterous selves and we wouldn't have to worry about their noise level.  OH, AND they had KRAFT Macaroni and Cheese on the menu.  FINALLY.  Come on, chefs, kids don't want fancy homemade mac n cheese, they want KRAFT.  A good chance the child will actually eat at this restaurant.

The giant slabs of beef and their accompanying sides of potatoes in various forms were good, Aidan had gravy for the first time, and Rowan ate pretty well, with help from a last minute social story written on our magna-doodle.  (Our server wasn't quite sure what to make of that.)  The best part was the fact that Dan had to sit in the birthday saddle while everyone in our section yelled "YEEE-HAW!"  That was worth the trip right there.  We wrapped up a decent evening, eating out with our kids, a rare thing.

Oh....I almost forgot.  Driving out of the parking lot, Rowan realized he had left his presh-us wooden signs at the table.  I wish I had been a fly on the wall to witness my husband, on hands and knees, searching the floor under the table we'd been at, where there was now seated an Asian family who seemed to speak very little English.  They kept saying "sorry" while Dan tried to explain missing tiny wooden traffic signs.  He found them.

Happy Birthday, Dan.  We love you!