to every thing there is a season

It had been a chilly few days. The temperature had taken it's first dip toward cold permanence for the season but the landlady had not yet turned on the radiators. It's torture to be at someone's mercy for your heating and comfort needs! On the third day I was tired, bundled up in a blanket, and curled up on the couch after a completely unproductive day. Ben arrived home to find me in my comatose state. But not too comatose. I was awake and alive enough to suggest we go out to dinner. And not just for a Happy Meal. It must have been my tone of voice but he didn't even question. We rounded up the children and headed off to the Outback, where I could fill up on warm soup and steak, and thus make it through the cold spell.

As a general rule going to restaurants has not been really jolly experiences since we've had kids. They cry. They don't want to sit at the table, prefering to roam around yelling loudly as to enhance the other diners' eating pleasure. They don't eat the food, even though they are hungry. This, coupled with a desire to a) save money, and b) eat healthy, means we hardly ever go out to eat.

But this meal was different. The girls, pleased with their special placemats and crayons, were happy to color the evening away. They also ate their food. After a trip out to the car so I could feed the baby he promptly fell asleep for the remainder of the meal. We actually had a pleasant time. So pleasant that I didn't even regret it when the bill came, which I often do, mentally calculating the groceries I could/should have bought. The entire event was worth it.

I looked at the girls, calculated their ages, calculated the baby's age and said to Ben, "This was fun. We should do it again in another 2 1/2 years."