Widowed me.

So last night I took my kids on a date. It was Friday night, so we went out. Even though Daddy was absent, we went out. Me and all three. We did a little shopping, just one store, and then went out to eat. We went sit down, because they bring the food to you. There's no way I can carry a baby, a purse, hold two other children's hands, and carry a tray full of food. Don't be fooled, I'm no wonder woman. Oh wait, you were never fooled. Rats.

Anyways, IF I could do all those things at once I might have gone to Bajio, best Mexican EVER! (That's for you Randy.) But I can't, so we went sit down. And everyone was so darn nice to me. I felt pretty special. All these old women smiling at me, my waiter being extra nice--bringing my kids fishy crackers while we waited, putting our order in first-- some lady at the table across the room smiling and nodding encouragingly. Except, she kind of looked like she felt sorry for me. Hmm. I thought, and then everyone's expressions started to make sense. They either think I'm divorced with 3 small kids, or widowed with 3 small kids. How... sad. Why else would I brave a restaurant with 3 small kids, right? Why, because I wanted to take my kids on a date. Because I'm an awesome mom and let them order breakfast for dinner... the best. And even let my baby have a sip of my soda, oh I guess I'm a terrible mother.

So I smiled back and nodded too, laughing to myself because at that moment my husband was winging his way back to me. I'm sure I'm going to be the subject of a sacrament talk someday... "I saw this young mother in a restaurant one night, and I don't know her back story, but ..." tear, sniff sniff.