“Going Out To Eat Sounds Great!” -Said No Parent Ever

It was late morning on a foggy Sunday.  We were visiting my parents who live a couple hours away.  Church was just letting out and my grandfather said the words that I hate to love to hear, “Do you guys want to go out to breakfast?”  I began to weigh my options.


  • SWAG the carb counting for Piet, type 1 diabetic (SWAG stands for Scientific Wild Ass Guess and when you don’t have nutritional facts right in front of you, you guess like a boss)
  • Kids will disrupt every other group in the entire establishment by running around like wild animals
  • Ceci will have to pee at the least convenient time
  • There will be crying, there will be screaming, and there will be blood shed


  • Free food
  • No cooking
  • No cleaning up

“Yeah, sure! Let’s do it! I’m sure it will be better this time!”  As the words fell out of my mouth, I immediately realized my delusion, but didn’t care because… NO COOKING!!!

We pulled up to the restaurant and the fun began.  

Ceci: I don’t want to go out to eat! I want to go to Nina’s and play!

Jake: We are going to eat and then we’ll go to Nina’s afterwards.

Ceci: NNNOOOOO!!!!! I want to play at NIna’s NOW!

Me: Super.

Fortunately, we were able to sit our large party in a separate area where we would only torment one poor, unlucky couple.  The expression on their face seemed a little confused when I whispered to them, “Sorry in advance.”  They’ll know soon enough.

We sat down at the table and I breezed through the menu as I pushed all items out of Tornado Kammie’s path.  Ceci wants pancakes, so that means I can’t do something diabetes easy for Piet, like eggs or a breakfast sandwich.  So, two kids pancakes it is.  And a veggie omelet for me because I’m eating healthy.  *eye roll*

And so the pre-meal purgatory began.  Ceci needed to pee right as we were testing Piet’s blood sugar, of course.  But Nina to the rescue! My mom took one for the team and escorted Ceci to the bathroom.  After testing Piet, it was time to SWAG the crap out of that pancake.  I must also look into my crystal ball and foresee all the random stuff he’s going to scavenge.  I decided on 2 units of insulin as Jake pulled Piet’s arm out of his shirt.  It’s especially hard to refrain from singing “Shots, shots, shots, shots, shots… EVERYBODY!” But I don’t, because we are in a public place, and that’s weird.

In the time it took for our food to be delivered, we had two crayon meltdowns, a “why won’t you let me eat the sugar packets” screaming fit, one water spill, and three laps around the restaurant to calm an unruly baby.

Finally, we ate.  Well everyone ate, except Ceci.  She decided after two bites that she doesn’t “wike” pancakes, and MUST announce it to the entire room.  I quickly glanced over at the couple seated in our section to see how they were holding up.  They were locked in on the hot-mess-express, so I gave them a quick shoulder shrug and apologetic smile.  

“OK, Jake.  We gotta get out of here!” I prepared myself for our final battle before the end of the war, getting everyone into their carseats.  There was crying and yelling and kicking and screaming… and the kids were upset, too.  But we were finally out of there and that place will never be the same after we graced them with our presence.  

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