Crunchy Thoughts

Well, I think most people know . . . hopefully most people know, anyway. Earlier this month when I said not much was going on around here, I was lying — we’re actually expecting our first child in the middle of next year. How cool is that?

So Carrie, you ask, how the heck did you keep your mouth shut about this when you know you had to have been dying to blog about it? Well, I couldn’t keep totally quiet, so I just stayed well-hidden. So there you go. Happy reading — best to start at the beginning. I’ll be here when you get back. Or I might be asleep. I’m so very tired right now, actually.

I had a dream the other night that Renton came up to me in the bed, nestled up on my shoulder, and told me he was a Michigan fan.

Now how crazy is that?

I know that cat pulls for the Georgia Bulldogs.

Photo credit: Samantha Clemens

War Eagle!

Buffalo Wild Wings. A sports bar-type place where people go to have tasty adult beverages, maybe some wings, and watch whatever sports game happens to be on. There’s always somebody playing somebody else.

Steven, Kevin, and I go there last night for some dinner. I get there first, grab a table, and feel like I have sat down in Chucky Cheese’s. There is a gaggle of about ten kids, ranging from 3rd to 6th grade by the looks of them, sprinting all over the restaurant, yelling and screaming. What the hell? I don’t even think I’ve seen kids in Buffalo’s before!

Kevin and Steven arrive soon after and we order our food, kids running behind our chairs. We spy out the parents that belong to these hellions, sitting at a large table in the restaurant, having a happy hour and not caring what the kids are doing.

By the end of our dinner, I’m begging Kevin or Steven to stick out their foot to trip up one of the kids. Give them some carpet burn and something to scream about, I say. The waitresses were definitely pissed off. After one kid almost ran one over, I saw her mime putting a gun into her mouth to another waitress, as if to say, “Shoot me now.”

When we left — and we had been there for probably a good hour and a half — those kids were still there.

My God. If you are gonna go to Buffalo Wild Wing’s for some booze and wings, you do NOT bring your ratty-ass kids along unless you’re gonna make them sit their butt down and watch Daddy drink his two pitchers of beer! A restaurant is NOT a daycare center. A kid can NOT be a kid at Buffalo’s or any other normal restaurant — only Chucky Cheese’s, man.

Everywhere else, you gotta behave politely like the grown-ups tell you to, or the crazy redheaded lady in the corner will beat you silly because SHE JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.