Football burritos and double standards.

Saturday night we took the kids to dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. Now, first off, we don't take the kids out to dinner very often. We stopped five years ago when the twins were born, and have only ventured in to the brave world of anything beyond fast food a mere handful of times. I'm crazy in a lot of ways, but I'm not crazy enough to expect restaurant dining with four small children to even be worth what you would pay for appetizers alone. So we haven't done it much.

But, those four tiny children have now turned in to bigger kids... the twins, a pair of five year olds that can feed themselves and sit still, and not have a public meltdown when they can't have a bite of ice cream from the booth behind you. Though it hasn't gotten less expensive (yet another reason to avoid restaurants with the whole gang), it has gotten easier.

This Mexican restaurant, however, is one that we like to frequent. It's not very expensive, and they have chips and salsa and delicious cheese dip at your table within seconds of sitting down. Really, I think it may actually be the most efficient restaurant of all time. The servers literally hover around the corner waiting for you to wade through the 147 different combinations of burritos and tacos and enchiladas, looking for any sign that you're ready to order. I've never waited longer than 10 minutes for my food. And the food is outstandingly delicious...

If you know me, you know this is a huge deal... for me to say that Mexican food is delicious. Back in our college days when I was pregnant with Jordan, Josh worked at a Mexican restaurant. A husband that smells like burritos is not a good thing for a wife that is pregnantly nauseous all the time. He would come home from work, try to kiss me hello, and I would throw up. Awesome.

Okay. Back to the point. We went to a Mexican Restaurant with all our kids. Now, lucky for me, when we go to this particular restaurant, I don't even have to look at the menu. I order the same thing all the time... it's a burrito, so outstanding that it bears the name of the restaurant. It's full of steak or chicken and fresh mushrooms and tomatoes, and smothered with wonderful, melting cheesy goodness. It's huge. Enormous really. So enormous, that you get nothing of the rice and beans and little shredded lettuce on your plate. You get a burrito. That's it. Normally, I can't finish it. But Saturday night they made it smaller than usual, so I deliciously ate it all up, and even felt tempted to lick my plate clean. Instead, I settled on eating a few bites of Sam's chicken enchilada.

Jordan, who saw my picking asked if he could have some too. He'd already finished his entire plate of food so his Dad told him he'd had enough and he didn't need anymore.

Jordan responded, "Well, Mommy's the one that ate a burrito the size of a football. How come she gets more?"

It was NOT the size of a football. And I, well.... I was just having a few bites, and well, I am feeling kind of full.

Jordan looked at me with a knowing, "I'm so ON to you" look, and folded his arms across his chest. I looked to Josh for support. He shook his head and said, "He's got a point J, it was a huge burrito." I guiltily returned the rest of Sam's enchilada back to his plate and then, hiding behind my napkin, licked the last of the cheese off the back of my hand.

Parent double standard food consumption at it's best.