So tonight Dan and I took the kids with us to Zaxby's for our 18th anniversary dinner. Because we are SO fancy, we wore our good sweatpants.
While Dan and I were ordering we sent the kids to pick out a table. Eight chose a booth for four, while Eleven picked out the big, round, corner booth. I told him no, that we needed to save that table for a larger family because there are only four of us. He disagreed, but reluctantly left the table and came over to the booth his brother chose, grumbling the whole way. When Dan arrived with the food, Eleven was still complaining. Dan told him that we needed to leave that table in case a party of twenty showed up. I laughed and said, "Well, I don't think that table will seat twenty, but definitely more than four."
Eleven piped in and said, "Oh, it will seat nine. I know because I measured. With my butt."
Then he demonstrated how he scooted around the booth, counting butt prints as he went. Yep. That's my gifted child.
Later, while he was munching his grilled cheese sandwich, he bit his tongue or the inside of his cheek or something. He sat there saying, "Ouch, ouch, ouch," until we acknowledged his injury. Dan jokingly asked if I ordered extra glass slivers in the sandwich, to which Eleven deadpanned, "I didn't know they used sharp cheddar cheese."
Ha, ha. Dinner AND a show.
Happy anniversary, honey. Thanks for giving me the last eighteen years and our two precious children. But next weekend, let's go out to dinner and leave them at home, 'kay?