While on Vacation in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, my parents wanted to go out for some Italian food one night. Once the triplets woke up from their nap, we got them ready and started to head out the door to the restaurant that they had picked out. As we were walking out the door we told the kids that we were going out for pizza and pasta. They were very excited, especially KJ. We plugged the name of the restaurant into the GPS and it gave us directions. It was less than two miles away from our condo. We headed out and got to the place the GPS told us to go, but it was not the correct restaurant. It was not even an Italian restaurant. So we decided to go to a local cafeteria style place that was next door. No big deal right? W.R.O.N.G.
Once we got inside, we were informed by a certain three foot little boy that we had promised him pizza. There was no pizza at this place. He wanted his pizza, and he threw a royal fit! We tried everything. I tried giving him garlic bread, one of his favorites. Nothing. We tried giving him a normal dinner roll (can you tell the kid likes bread?). Nothing. I offered him my key lime pie. Nothing. The kid would not accept anything except pizza. And there was no pizza. What there was was an abundance of whining and crying and whining. Did I mention the whining. There was lots of whining.
Eventually hunger overcame stubbornness and he did end up eating something. I don’t remember exactly what because my brain erases the details of these traumatic events soon after they occur. It’s some sort of built in mechanism that, as far as I can tell, keeps me from leaving my children on the doorstep of the nearest church and running for the hills.
So, lesson learned. We do not tell KJ that we are going for pizza unless we are one thousand percent positive that we can provide him with pizza.