So I'm having one of those contemplative "how I'm letting the world ruin my boy" days. For instance, his expectations are already way too high. As soon as we walk into a restaurant he's scoping out three things he now considers necessary for a successful dining experience: crayons, balloons and after-dinner mints. Virtually every restaurant around here provides all those things -- even the less family-oriented establishments, especially the less family-oriented establishments (they want your kid to keep quiet). As soon as we walk into a restaurant I'm already putting my foot down, no mint until you eat your dinner young man! and of course I have to bite the mint in half else his shirt will be coated with a thick pepperminty drool. Even when we manage to divert his attention from the bundle of balloons, the waitstaff brings one to our table. My living room is a fading balloon hospice, although today I put four suffering fuckers out of their misery -- with a steak knife!

It's almost enough to make me cook more at home. Almost.

I'm a bad mommy blogger. Cha cha cha.