Weather: A soft spring rain has been falling all day.

Listening to: J. S. Bach's Brandenburg Concertos.

Lunching with Stephen and Matthew

Feeling guilty about being Zombie Mom all day yesterday, I decided to treat the twins out to lunch at Macaroni Grill. I've been meaning to take them there ever since my lunch with Liz last month. They were thrilled when I told them where we were going; except for the occasional Tuesday nights at Ground Round, they rarely get to eat out.

Macaroni Grill fills up at lunch time with lots of Route 1 cubicle-dwellers, so we arrived early, around 11:30. The twins were intrigued by the table cloth they were allowed to draw on. They happily ate the pieces of bread I tore off the flat loaf, but they were not pleased with the olive oil provided for dipping. "Yuck," said Stephen, taking the bread out of his mouth.

"I don't like it," concurred Matthew. So much for expanding their culinary horizons.

The boys split a children's portion of cheese ravioli and also had some of my penne with grilled chicken. The highlight of the lunch as far as they were concerned was the vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce they had for dessert.

They were very well-behaved, rather to the surprise of the people at the table next to us, who had looked slightly apprehensive when they saw us sit down. I basked in the admiration of the restaurant staff; our waitress commented several times on the boys' manners and the hostess stopped by twice to chat with them.

I should have remembered that pride goeth before a fall, which proved literally true in this case. As we were preparing to leave, Stephen started to investigate the large painting on the wall behind us. The painting was hanging low enough that he could reach the lower edge, and he was pulling it away from the wall, probably to see what was under it. I was on the other side of the table getting Matthew into his jacket, and I scarcely had time to yell, "Don't touch that, Stephen!" when the painting came crashing off the wall and onto Stephen's head with a loud bang. Almost immediately we were surrounded by concerned restaurant staff: several waitresses, the hostess, and one very worried-looking man I took to be the manager, who was probably envisioning a lawsuit.

Suing the restaurant was the last thing on my mind at that moment; once I determined that Stephen was OK, I was embarrassed by the spectacle we had become. The picture's frame had fallen apart when it hit the floor, and I wondered if I should offer to pay for it, but part of me was looking at the pieces, thinking, "How shoddy! And how poorly secured to the wall!" The restaurant staff hovered about, waving away my repeated apologies, and the hostess brought a bag of ice for Stephen's head. The ice proved unnecessary, however; the hood of his coat must have cushioned the blow because he didn't have even a tiny bump.

Stephen is going to give me more grey hairs than the other two boys together. He is fearless and he lacks impulse control, a dangerous combination. Driving home in the car one day, he was hitting himself in the head with a plastic hammer, egged on by Daniel, who was saying, "Do it again, Stephen!" Tab was in the car, too, and he compared Stephen to Bluto in Animal House, crushing beer cans against his head. I'm afraid he does have that genial, anything-for-a-good-time attitude.

Still, I'd call the lunch a success. Except for the minor disaster at the end, the boys acquitted themselves well, and it was a nice change from peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at home.

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