The day we introduced our children to K & W

I always knew this day would come. First they started walking, talking and pooping on the nearest toilet or floor. I’ve sent them off to school, loved them and clothed them when they felt like being clothed. Which is only three times a week. But today, today marked a place in my heart and my deep forehead wrinkle lines as a day in History. 

The history of my failure as a mother. The day I wished they sold alcohol at K & W. ANY kind of alcohol. Rubbing alcohol. Does peroxide have alcohol in it? I’m not a nurse, shut your mouth.


Upon entering the parking lot there was intimidate confusion. The vaulters in the backseat began asking questions that were difficult to answer. They were hungry. They needed to know if there was in fact a play place. Did they have chicken nuggets? Why was their only old people walking into the restaurant? Why did it look like a nursing home? Old people drink milk?

Why do we have to eat here, there are no kids?! Do they have a potty if we have to poop?

All valid questions.

Walking in our middle child immediately stated that it smelled like ” old people in here”. Throwing my hand on top of her mouth made it look as if I was possibly abusing her. I made eye contact with an elderly man that seemed to be undressing me with his eyes ( and glasses ). My eyes shifted to a sweet little lady in front of us. She was just blankly staring at my children , as if she hadn’t seen them at bed time. Crying, acting as if they have never been to sleep before. Brushed their teeth? Hell no. This is all new to them.

” Oh what sweet babies. They favor their Father the most. “

I look at Matt. I remember what my face looks like. I nod my head in agreement and made a mental note to look in the mirror when we got home. Possibly with my camera on my I phone, just gotta switch the camera thingy around.

Matt has brown hair and green eyes. Here are our children:

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Here is my husband:

Before I spill my guts about this pictured shopping trip, I want you to notice a few things. 1 - Adah is leading the way 2- Rhema has on one shoe. 3- Matt is the only one that bought anything, and that's not fair.

 You tell me who looks like who.




Waiting in line to choose our tiny plates of food was much like the hunger games. I mean , we were all hungry, but this time the children had so many CHOICES of what they could eat. Our kids and choices take hours. They are lovely, and smart, but they are the most indecisive children you will ever meet.

” I want the blue jello! No wait. The pink! Do they have pink? I want the orange one! Wait, no. Do they have yellow?”

I was slightly surprised they weren’t offering rainbow jello due to this weeks current events.

“Rainbow jello for everyone , and don’t forget the complimentary fruit salad at the end of the line!”

( I know. )

By the end of the line I felt as if we had introduced our kids to like something violating of their innocence. I was seven when my parents told me about how babies were made. Our oldest was seven when he first experienced K & W. I don’t know which one is harder to understand.

You have 4,567 meat choices and even more sides. For our already overstimulated offspring these choices sent them into involuntary seizures. So many colors ( or lack there of ) and so many different varieties of hamburger.

Hamburger steak. Hamburger patties. Sloppy joes .Spaghetti. Raw ground beef ( grass fed ) Country style steak. A whole cow, still mooing. A lady trying to get you to taste the new cubed steak.

I could literally see Asher’s eyes rolling in the back of his head as he shouted:

” I JUST WANT BLUE JELLO AND FRENCH FRIES MOM!”

Ok. what the heck kid. Just get it.

I was sweating from the stress and trauma of holding our toddler while she screamed for glutten free granola made by a naked woman in a hippie commune. I’m sorry kid, this just isn’t the place. I tried then to order her Kombucha to no avail. Next I tried Quinoa. Nothing. She ate air with kale on the side.


It was a learning experience for us all. I loved the fried okra, while our children devoured the artificial dyes in the jello bowls. The 99 cents we paid for their mouths pleasure wasn’t worth how they began acting after it was eaten. The standing on the tables and hanging from the light fixtures got us kicked out, but at least we didn’t have to pay tip.

When I got home I wrote myself a note on a ten foot piece of paper, that I hung in my living room for all to see.

It reads:

” JUST EAT AT HOME DANGIT.”  

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