At Bertucci's, nobody can hear you scream

We've been waiting for you

Of all the "firsts" that we'll be going through as new parents, last night proved to be an interesting one. Before I go too far, let me apologize for my latent New York snootiness. I grew up in a restaurant city, where people can be quite serious about the art of eating out. We never had a birthday at Chuck E' Cheese, and to this day I don't think I've been to an Olive Garden. Only later in life was I introduced to the concept of "Family Style Dining", and even then only as an option of last resort.

And there's nothing wrong with huge bowels of pasta, or chain restaurants in general. I'll gladly admit Bertucci's makes a quite respectable dinner roll. It's the concept of "family friendly" that I hadn't yet internalized. Until last night.

Friends were in town, so we arranged to meet up with them and 10 other people. There were three children, including Mia (3 months), Daniel (18 months) and Rose (3 years) that we had to plan for so the small, crowded dimly lit hole in the wall was out of the question. We needed highchairs, space and a team of waiters with the patience of a Buddha on spring break. Daniel stuck pasta on all his fingers, Rose licked cheese off of her pizza, and Mia for the most part watched the hilarity ensue. There were screams for ice cream, limp attempts at adult conversation, and more plates than the board of health could have been comfortable with on a table full of elbows, sippy cups and wine.

But this is what people do. Food made it's way into the right places eventually, and nobody got hurt. Corrie and I sucked down our dinner like a coke addict with a crazy straw, and got our daughter home in time for her late night (9:30) snack. Like most things I assume, the challenge is not in getting through the evening, so much as doing so with grace and dignity.

Ok, we'll settle for the grace.