A couple of weeks ago we took the boys out to lunch after a doctor's appointment. It was nearly naptime, so we decided that Chinese buffet was the right level of cheap, fast, and filling. Duncan impressed us by sampling a variety of food, and munching enthusiastically on vegetarian egg roles. Tristan, who is our picky eater, deigned to allow me to spoon fried rice into his mouth, complaining bitterly any time I accidentally got any of the "yucky stuff" in the spoon. Things were winding down and Dane was rapidly trying to clear his plate by the time Tristan wandered off to look at the fish tank with the owner of the restaurant, a kindly man who offers to kidnap the boys in broken English any time we see him. (People from all over the world love twins, but Chinese people take it to another level entirely.)
When Tristan came back from the fish tank whining that he wanted to go outside, I decided to buy Dane another minute or two of peace by pointing out the silk lanterns and paper dragons hanging from the ceiling. "Would you boys like dragons like those in your play room?" I asked. Duncan was keen. "Yes, I like them!" But Tristan looked a little worried. He shouted, "That one has fire coming out of his butt! WHY DOES HE HAVE FIRE COMING OUT OF HIS BUTT??!"
Of course, the room had gone completely silent for this -- and my mental case laughing fit that came after. I explained that the fire was a burning tail. Dane trooped the boys out the door, and I paid the smiling lady at the counter. In our world, this was a great pinnacle of public dining success.
Perhaps emboldened by that experience, we took the boys out for dinner again on Halloween night. We had taken the boys trick or treating for the first time ever -- three years was probably a reasonable outer limit for how long we could pretend Halloween had nothing to do with candy. Both boys were hesitant at first, but eventually got the idea and ran enthusiastically from house to house, filling up their fireman hats with loot. They tired out before the big kids, though, and as we headed back to the car Duncan asked if we could eat "real food" at the Pretty Penny. We weren't about to deny a kid real dinner in the face of all that candy. The restaurant was a total chaos of kids and grown ups in costumes. We sat in the very center and got menus. Duncan spent the meal stealing bites of pork chop from my plate and chopping on an older boy with his toy fireman ax. Tristan got his hands on some "light sabers" -- glow sticks with beer logos -- and also cheerfully wacked older kids. There was much rejoicing. Our boys were barely noticeable in the general press of noise and activity, and they occasionally held their hands over their ears.
Then suddenly all the "big" kids and their parents trooped out to catch the haunted house down the street before it closed, leaving only us and two tables of adults in the restaurant. The boys continued to chatter about all kinds of things -- visiting Mammaw, fighting fires, fixing cars, wanting cats "who stay kittens and don't get big," and why their baby sitter was in the hospital.
Tristan: "She has a baby growing in her belly! It's going to come out!"
Duncan: "Yes, but only one!"
Tristan: "Yes only one! Why do some people grow only one baby? Mom grew both of us in her belly at the same time!"
Duncan: "Yes, at the same time! BUT WE DIDN'T COME OUT THE VAGINA!!"
We did not, fortunately, have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on Dane. But it was a near thing.
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