My husband suggested Lone Star, somewhere I hadn't been in almost a decade.
By 4pm, my anxiety levels were rising. By 5.30pm, we were seated at a table.
In the first minute, our son, 2 (who insists on sitting on adult seats) had been told several times to sit down. He promptly fell off his chair, knocking it over sideways with him.
He doesn't flinch over small incidents such as this and was back up seconds later, unfazed. No one seemed to notice.
We ordered a red wine each and the kids were excited about the felts and colouring paper they'd been given. Until our boy reached for a felt, sparking rage in his feisty four-year-old sister. We were offered an extra felt set, which I refused.
You kids can God-damn share for once in your tiny, over-privileged lives.
The waitress informed us that it was the first night they were trying face-painting for kids.
God bless you, Lone Star, and your child-friendliness.
We spent the rest of the night with a tiny tiger and ice princess, who kept going to a nearby mirror to check themselves out.
We'd had four days of eating reasonably badly. I was in desperate need of some veges and ordered lamb shanks, mostly because they came with broccolini.
Out came shanks the size of a small house.
As I was distracted dealing with our boy his mini hot-dogs, his sister stole my broccolini. The night your body needs something green is the night your kid eats veges.
Typical.
The kids were rapt to get ice cream as part of their meal. In fact, I believe it was the threat of not being allowed any if they were naughty that got us through.
I finally sat back and relaxed as my husband and I shared desert, relieved (and surprised) we had survived.
As I watched my son scoop a small, soggy mass into his mouth and swallow with glee, I became confused.
"What was that?" I asked my husband, wondering what goodies I had missed on the plate.
"One of these," he replied.
I looked up to see him waving a serviette.
