Kellen had a soccer tournament this weekend. The venue was a soccer club about forty minutes from our house, and his team had a game Saturday morning, Saturday afternoon ... then again Sunday morning (What the heck? Don't the people who schedule these games go to church? The tournament had games at 7:30 AM Sunday morning --- thank goodness it wasn't us, is all I'm saying) and Sunday afternoon.
There were two hours to kill each day between the morning and afternoon games. Not enough time to go home, but too much time to just sit at the fields and do nothing. So the entire team decided (both days) to go out and have lunch together. Nothing strikes fear in the heart of a Dennys employee like having a mob like us walk through the door, asking for a table for twenty-four people, twelve of whom are "children" .... "children" who are, in this scenario, ten and eleven year old boys; noisy, sweaty, stinky, rambunctious, loud. (And extremely sweet and precious, but probably the Dennys workers couldn't see past the soccer uniforms and cleats and hungry, hungry boys to realize that ..... whatever, that's not even the point to this post.)
Today Kellen asked where were we going for lunch, and I said "The other parents want to go to Poblanos."
He asked, "Poblanos? What's that?"
And I said, "It's Mexican."
His response? "Oh, good. I've been in the mood for egg rolls."
I totally repeated the story later, at the table, because Lord knows I'm not above exploiting my children if its good for a laugh.
What made it funnier, although proved to me that seriously, we need to get out more as a family, was when the Poblanos waitress came to the table and he ordered chicken strips.