Last night The Boss Lady and I were treated to a night out. One of The Boss Lady's childhood friends has moved into our neighborhood. She watched the kids for us and sent us to one of her favorite restaurants, The Melting Pot. She also handed us the keys to her car, a really nice Lexus. After gorging on a Cheddar and Emmentaler Swiss cheese veggie fondue appetizer and the Center Cut Entree (Filet Mignon, Black Tiger Shrimp, Chicken Breast, Peppercorn Pork Tenderloin, and Teriyaki Sirloin) in a Coq au Vin fondue, we decided on the Flaming Turtle Chocolate Fondue for dessert. They should serve the dessert fondue with a chaser of insulin. I thought I might turn diabetic after eating chocolate-dipped marshmallows that had been coated in crushed Oreos. But I have never been one to waste food, so I ate them all. The Boss Lady was a little more health conscious. She dipped fruit and cheesecake in the chocolate and caramel. There was a chef's salad in there somewhere before the Flaming Turtle, but as Homer Simpson said, "You don't win friends with salad," so who cares. Everything was awesome, even the salad. But if you go to The Melting Pot, don't forget to sign the loan documents at your bank beforehand. And take me—I'll teach you how to really get those marshmallows covered. After dinner we were really creative. We drove out to the construction site of a school that The Boss Lady would like to run next year. Then we drove home. But since we were in a nice car, we did take the long way home. The kids had a ball. They ate at Chick-fil-A and went to a carnival at church. They were even in bed when we got home! What a nice night. I still don't know exactly what we did to deserve it, but thanks, DamnYell.

The first words out of The Talker's mouth this morning were "Daddy, I wanna play Play-Doh." No real stress for Mommy there. The second round of talking would have caused problems for Mommy, though. "I was dreaming about babies. Mommy has a new baby." Dang, now I feel guilty for getting a great night's sleep. All while The Boss Lady was off birthing a baby...

And finally, why is AtHomeDaddy always the last to know? It is pretty amazing what one can do with a helpful three-year-old, some swim noodles, and Daddy's work clothes. Who cares if he looks as if he has scoliosis and bow legs? The Talker is very proud of his creation.

The Princess deserves some credit, too. She slept late yesterday, making this whole thing possible. But not as late as she slept today. It is 9:10 and the girl is still out. Yeah for Daddy! Just for the record, 9:50. One hour and 50 minutes later than usual.

This morning, after running some errands, the kids and I headed over for some pre-lunch park time. The Talker recognized a girl that he has only played with once. I couldn't remember her name, but the boy has great recall of names. Last time she was at the park with her grandmother; this time she was with her other granny. Today's grandma asked if I was "the stay-at-home dad her daughter told her about." Since Other Dad lives right across the street from her daughter, I assumed she was mistaking me for him. Then she explained that she had already met him. I was even more confused by her comment, but The Princess fell hard and cried, so I never got around to asking what she meant. Plus, the kids were having fun and she wasn't rushing out of the park with her granddaughter, so I didn't worry about it.

Later, though, she hit me with a doozy. The Princess was trying to play with the buckles on the little girl's stroller. She had also figured out where the snacks were stored—under the stroller—so my human grackle was not moving, not until someone shared that snack. Granny told me that she is a retired gifted-and-talented high school teacher, and that it is "obvious that your girl will need gifted services in school, especially if you do a good job getting her ready for school." What? Huh? Who the heck are you? You're such a great high school teacher that you can assign labels to 18-month-olds? Pretty pretentious, don't you think, lady? I'm glad those smart kids in Dallas got to benefit from your insight and wisdom. Bitch. I have no doubt that my kids will be smarter than me; it would be hard for them not to be. But this is the same as someone telling me the boy is a good candidate for a Ritalin and Focalin cocktail every morning with his breakfast. I have never held gifted/talented teachers in very high regard. Probably goes back to being left with the other kids while the geniuses benefited from the best learning methods. Or maybe I just think kids need to be educated with their peers.

After we shopped, we ate lunch at the snack bar: cheese pizza for the kids to share and a hot dog for Dad. Then we all scarfed down ice cream — a good outing and an easy lunch. While we were eating the snack tables were full, so we ended up sitting at the last table, big enough for eight people. Three strangers joined us, and did they ever get an earful from the boy. After he introduced everyone, he let them know exactly what our plans were for the day. He is not a shy child; a shy child would not include bathroom breaks when sharing an itinerary with complete strangers. By the time the others left, they knew that The Princess had blown out a diaper in the car and that our dog was in trouble for eating a tree. This afternoon was our neighborhood costume parade.