Hold the Sauce

Whenever Alan and I go "back home" to visit, we overdose on Mexican food. In New Jersey, or at least our immediate vicinity, you just cannot get good Mexican food. And just fuggedabout getting a margarita to go along with it; many restaurants are BYOB, which is cool for Italian restaurants and wine, but not so cool when you want a 'rita, on the rocks, with salt.

I ordered a margarita when we were in Top City. A margarita that I'd been pining for, for like, ever. I didn't get my drink because I was without a driver's license and I totally look 20, but I did get a lecture about government spying, 1984, Snowden and "Are you watching TV....or is it watching you?" It would have been a better conversation had I been tipsy, but it was interesting nonetheless.

So seeing as how we never eat Mexican food around here ---

Time out: Seriously, one of the passable restaurants has an hour-long wait any time we ever go near it, even at 4 in the afternoon. Let me use my Spanish: Two kids + hour wait = no bueno. Another serviceable option is in an area so questionable Alan said I was never allowed to go there by myself. And our worst experience was when we went to a "Mexican" restaurant attached to a hotel. And they served MARINARA SAUCE passing as salsa. For shame.

--- Owen hadn't really been exposed to a whole lot of salsa. He knew exactly what to do with it, however, and proceeded to dip chips in it until he decided it would be more fun to splash in it with his whole hand. That left me no choice but to take away his salsa and ensure a tantrum, which got him a ticket right outside the restaurant and me a shirt with salsa handprints all over it.

Thinking he'd mature in a day, we went to another Mexican restaurant for lunch the next day. We made the mistake of letting the salsa get in his line of sight. He was like Cookie Monster: ME WANT SALSA. Then he'd eat it, want to splash in it because SO GOOD, and then he'd freak out when he wasn't allowed to act like a heathen. Even Owen knows that the marinara and Jersey salsas just aren't cutting it in comparison.

So we get home and all of a sudden Owen is a sauce guy. He always pitches a fit when he sees my dinner. It can be (and usually is) the exact same thing he's eating, only bigger portions and bigger pieces. But if he sees I have a sauce he doesn't have? You better get him his sauce. I had A1 tonight with my steak, so he had to have some too. As did Avery.

Avery has been watching Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood, and in it, they sing a song that goes "Grown-ups come back." That's basically it but here's the song online. You don't have to worry about it getting stuck in your head because Avery's version is way better.



Love how Owen is also musical in the background. Daily, I crack up at these two.