I knew better

There needs to be some sort of sensible formula that parents of small children can use to assess whether a child should be allowed in a particular restaurant. For instance, perhaps for mobile children (those over, say, nine or 10 months -- infants can often sleep through anything), you can't take your child to a restaurant if the restaurant's average entree costs more dollars than your child weighs in pounds. Something like that.
My parents have been in town all this week -- Dad has not one, but two, conferences in D.C. -- so I've been eating heavily. Dining out for most lunches and dinners. Oof! And somehow, that makes me want to consume more coffee, too, and of course there's no time for exercise (is there ever?), so the health is totally going out the window. Yes, restaurants serve salads. On the rare instance, I might even order one. But usually, no. I go for the burger and fries, or whatever sounds good.
Anyway, last night, we wanted to have dinner in D.C. Matt and I racked our brains -- what's vaguely kid-friendly, or at least might be fun for Lizzy, that we haven't been to with my parents before? We've been to Bucca di Beppo, a family fave. We've been to Cactus Cantina, but it wasn't really walkable, anyway. I poked around on the internet and thought, Hm, fondue might be interesting for her!
So, we went to The Melting Pot. Anyone ever been to The Melting Pot? Didn't expect to see a 3-year-old there, did ya? Neither did the other patrons last night, I'm sure. For the record, nobody reacted, and the waitstaff was very patient and good about it all. Lizzy was being a stinker, but not in a way that would really bother anyone else, I guess. I was a wreck, and I'm not quite sure why. I think it was just too many weirdnesses at once. I really enjoy time with my parents, but there's something slightly unsettling about seeing them right after a workday. The usual slog interrupted by family time. I can't quite explain why. I guess after commuting in for work, I have about enough energy to commute back out, entertain Lizzy for three hours and crash when she does. But I wasn't tired, exactly... Oh, who knows. Matt really likes my parents, and my parents like Matt, but there's the inevitable psychoanalyzing by both sides that goes on after each encounter. Just making sure the liking each other continues, maybe.
So Matt thought to get a coloring book and a sticker book for Lizzy. The waiter even gave her a helium balloon. But she wasn't in a mood. Not even the hot, bubbling oil interested her that much. She must've just been hungry and tired. We (Matt and I) kept tensing for her to start crying, and when she did, we'd take her up and out and give her a stern talking-to.
After dinner, we walked to the Ritz-Carlton, which was a bit more fun. Lizzy had some protein and milk in her tummy at last, and was genial. We heard Matt's coworker play the piano in the lobby while we had a little dessert. (the only place I know that charges considerably more for a latte or cappuccino than does Starbucks.) Bread pudding and some sort of apple pie derivative... Yummmm. Daniel, Matt's coworker piano player, is AWESOME. Story goes, a certain former lady prime minister of England is in town, and she was so charmed by Daniel's playing on Tuesday night that she lingered 'round the piano for the last half of his shift. So they asked him back on Wednesday night. (it's a regular gig, but Wed. isn't his regular night.) We hoped to catch a glimpse of the dame, but she had other things to do and had already shuffled off last night, Daniel said. He'll be playing at our wedding and reception... Sweet.
We got home to Manassas at about 11 p.m. Poor Lizzy. She crashed in the car on the way there, but she's still hurtin' for sleep today. Such is the price for time with the grandparents, sometimes.