Bo and Tucker and I went to the diner for breakfast yesterday morning. It was one of those events that will get filed away in the memory in the "nothing fancy but so sweet and unforgettable" file. He woke up wanting pancakes, and because of the refrigerator drama, we don't have what we need to make pancakes. So we went out.
I don't have pictures because I was too busy trying to keep Tucker from throwing plates on the floor and sticking his hands in my coffee, but I wish I did. It's a teensy little diner from the early-mid 1900s. I actually just tried to find online when it opened (I want to say the 1920s), but I can't find it anywhere. (Not even on the blog dedicated to the history of meat and threes.) (Which has a posting about the restaurant but doesn't say when it opened--now doesn't that seem silly because what is the main thing about the history besides the date?). It has one waitress that does everything and knows everybody's names and orders. (Hey, Stan, the western omelette for you today?).
Everybody behaved at our table for the most part. We had our pancakes (even Tucker enjoyed them) and our eggs and bacon and extremely buttery tasty toast and grits and coffee and orange juice. I even had one customer say how he couldn't believe I was old enough to have kids which made me extremely happy. He probably just had forgotten his glasses at home but still it made me happy.
Today is Bo's last day of preschool and I'm so sad--not because I want him at school but because that means he's that much closer to going to college. Sigh.
Here are some Superman pictures to share.
And he turns 4 next week. I wish I could freeze time.
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