Each Wednesday night, the boys and I attempt to do manly things. As the weather gets better, I'm hoping that the definition of manly evolves to include clearing brush from the forest, getting the pool ready for summer, building a tree fort and various other buildings, and getting sore.
But for right now, the definition of manly has been curtailed by coldness and wetness.
Each Wednesday night, rather than going to mid-week service at our church (which fits the girls' present situation quite well), dad decided that time with the boys would be better spent at home. Dad quickly discovered, however, that this meant he would need to feed the boys.
Now, during college, I managed to feed myself. Looking back, I'm not certain how I did it, but my present existence proves that something sustained me. Post-marriage, things are really different. I'll leave the details to your imagination.
So, naturally, the solution for Wednesday Nights had to be McDonalds. Little did I know how well it would go over. Here's how it happened: The first Wednesday night, we went to Lowe's to begin our manly night looking at tools. I thought we'd look around Lowe's and then go over to a nice Mexican restuarant or the Dock downtown in an attempt to build into the boys a fine dining tradition.
About 10 minutes into Lowe's, the boys started acting as if they were hungry. 11 minutes into Lowe's and they were looking at Glade plug-ins longingly. So, leaving Lowe's I began to calculate the time required to get to a restaurant, order food, wait for said food, and then get it to the boys' mouths versus the impending train wreck of 3 boys' hunger that was about to hit.
What to do? I panicked.
I did what most parents with any sense of saving the planet, let alone their own children, would never do: I drove to McDonalds. Each boy, except Zeke and me, got the #2 meal. For those of you not familiar with the McDonald's menu, that's two cheeseburgers, a medium tub of french fries and a medium size plastic-coated paper cup that you fill yourself.
Every last morsel was devoured, including, I fear, several empty ketchup packets. When at long last, the boys stopped chewing and resumed talking, the consensus was that 1) they were stuffed, and 2) they loved it.
Since that first night, we have not missed a Wednesday at McDonalds. We've become something of a McDonald's expert. In fact, the boys are now able to tell who made the fries based on taste and softness.
So, with no pretentions of fine dining or etiquette, you are welcome to join us each Wednesday night at our new, favorite eatery: McDonalds. Bring a, hah, I almost said "healthy," appetite and a little extra money for extra fries. Bon appetit!