The spoils of lunch

Today T and I took the kids to lunch someplace nice in Brussels. I had this bright idea that eating at a nice restaurant would put their table manners and social graces to the test. Or some such nonsense like that. What I hadn't bargained for was the head-banging drama about getting dressed.

Our 16yo daughter went through many costume changes, her room filling with cries of anguish as she rejected one outfit after another. First she looked like she was dressed for a wedding. The only thing missing was a hat. Next, she looked like she was off to a wild hen night with Lil' Kim and her posse. "I have absolutely nothing to wear! How can you do this to me," she wailed.

Her brother, on the other hand, was in a funk about having to wear a proper shirt (one with buttons) and leather shoes (shined). "Mama, seriously. Why can't I go in trainers and a t-shirt," he groaned.

"Because I said so. And oh, by the way, there will be no mobile phones at the table." The moaning amped up a notch. I was secretly enjoying myself, heartless mother that I am.

Eventually, we got there. The kids enjoyed a good lunch which they polished off with impeccable manners. Our conversation was fun. Also, no one died because they weren't allowed to check their text messages for a few hours. Who knew?

Anyway, this is what was left after dessert number 2 was smeared into memory.

They snored all the way home.