Since I was 12 years-old, I’ve had the same favorite restaurant.

I wish I could tell you it’s a Mario Batali restaurant like Lupa or Babbo.

But it’s just this Japanese hibachi place in Connecticut called Sakura. In fact, I’m pretty hibachi obsessed. Something about the sauces and the sodium and way grown adults fling themselves all over the table trying to catch a piece of flying shrimp. There really is no superior dining experience.

Where else can you get a 3 course meal (soup, salad and tasty entree) and get in and out of there in an hour? And I like the communal dining. Sort of like a beer hall except everyone sips Kirin Lights and green tea. It’s fun to watch other people’s dining habits without actually having to speak to them.

And at least my favorite restaurant isn’t the Olive Garden (Oh you know who you are).

So Rick and I decided to take all four kids to hibachi over the weekend.

The girls got kind of whiny in the car so Rick came up with this really innovative, creative car game.

“GIRLS. STOP WHINING. JUST LOOK OUT THE WINDOW AND COUNT CARS.”

Dylan refused, saying there was way too many to count. And Summer was too busy whining to actually hear Rick.

We finally got to the restaurant and sat down. Another couple soon joined us and I can only imagine their delight at sharing a table with two babies, a 3 year-old and a 5 year-old.

Although the chef’s antics are really geared toward Dylan and Summer’s ages, Harlowe was riveted by the performance.

I wanted her to catch a shrimp in her mouth because we’d be able to tell everyone that the first food she every tried was a flying hibachi shrimp. But apparently you’re supposed to start babies on cereal or something.

On the way home, I said to Rick…

“I’m feeling a bit gassy.”

“Yes, I’m feeling somewhat gassy myself. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. But it’s a good gassy.”

“Oh definitely a good gassy.”

The kind of gassy that can only come from a satisfying hibachi dinner.

I think some of you have met my manny…

That’s my dad and he helps me with the kids four days a week.

I also have a part-time babysitter who is a teacher and is going back to school. So sadly this is her last week.  She’s a very sweet, 25 year-old who recently got married. I’m pretty sure the experience of taking care of my four children for the last few months has significantly delayed her plans to start a family.

So we are back to interviewing potential babysitters. I don’t think of these so much as interviews but rather 20 minutes of free child care. “Hi. Great to meet you. Come in. Sit down. Hold a baby. Tell us a little about yourself.”

I really liked the first girl we interviewed. But Rick wasn’t so sure.

During the interview, Dylan hurt her foot and the babysitter successfully pinpointed the culprit – picking up a small, spinning top off the ground. Yahoo! We found a good sitter. Safety is her number one concern. But then Rick noticed that she inexplicably put it back on the carpet, in the same spot with the sharp end up. Interesting move during a job interview.

Maybe she thinks we keep it in the middle of the carpet and she was just trying to be tidy and put it away?

Maybe she was nervous and didn’t realize what she was doing?

Maybe she was drunk. Although admittedly, not a great sign either.

We decided to check her references anyway. Because perhaps she would have glowing references, we’d hire her, she’d be wonderful and we’d laugh about the “spinning top” incident for years.

Except she never sent those references or followed up with us again.

Apparently, we scared her off in one interview.

mama bird notes:

8th Continent Soy Milk was one of our amazing sponsors at The Mouthy Housewives party at BlogHer 2010. And now they are having a super cool contest called Nice Job, Mom.

All you have to do is submit your less-than-perfect parent moment (in written or video form) and you can win a room makeover or a fabulous trip. How easy is that?!

For example, you can submit how you spilled cereal all over your daughter’s head when she was in the Bjorn or how you got half way to the playground and realized no one was wearing any shoes or how you attempted to pull a tick out of your son’s head only to realize it was just schmutz in his hair. Choose one of mine or come up with your own!

So head on over to Nice Job, Mom and enter. Right now. Do it right now.  Please?  I’ll make you an 8th Continent soy milk smoothie. I promise. Thank you.

1. I learned that bartenders/waitresses with big breasts get bigger tips:

My husband and I ate at a fantastic restaurant while in Margate, NJ this past weekend. We sat at the bar and our server was a very nice woman with very large breasts. And her top allowed for a lovely presentation of previously mentioned breasts. At the end of the meal, my husband paid and then I took a quick look at the credit card receipt.

Me: Why did you give her like a 27% tip?

Rick: Did I? I didn’t realize. Well, the service and food were great.

Me: I think 20% would have really sent that message. Let’s go before you give her any more of our cash. Or our car. Or our life savings.

2. I learned that it’s very hard to nurse two babies in a minivan at a rest stop on the Garden State Parkway.

Despite the size of the dream minivan, there just wasn’t ample room to nurse them both comfortably. But somehow we got it done.

This weekend, I found myself facing an entire day all alone with my four children. Rick was at work. My mom (who usually helps me) was in Memphis.

So it was just me – staring at 11 week old twins, a 3 1/2 year-old and an almost 6 year-old.

An at home movie marathon would have been the perfect choice. So instead, I decided we should go on an outing.

After a round of nursing, I put the twins in the double stroller.  Then Summer hopped in the single stroller because that girl just loathes walking.  I have no idea why. Just the action of putting one foot in front of the other has never really caught on with her. On her wedding day, I have a feeling Rick will be pushing her down the aisle in a Bugaboo.

Then Dylan and I divided up the manual labor.

I pushed the twins in one stroller.

And she pushed Summer in the other stroller.

We walked a few blocks into town and it was all going pretty well until Dylan suddenly stopped and declared, “Summer is too heavy. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Now I’m a do-it-myself kind of girl but there is no way I can push a double stroller AND a single stroller. If Dylan walked off the job, I was in deep trouble.  We negotiated. And for the very reasonable price of an Italian ice, Dylan agreed to keep pushing. But she did insist, this was her last time doing this sort of thing.

I hate when the help goes all diva on me.

Later in the day, I even took my little crew to a friend’s party. The whole thing was kind of a blur but I do remember handing my babies off to anyone who would hold one for a minute, yelling at Summer for pulling on my shirt for the 400 billionth time, feeling bad about yelling at her because it’s just a stupid shirt after all, wiping the tushy of a child that was not my own and then somehow getting home to meet Rick and pack up all four kids to head to the Jersey shore.

And we did get to the shore.

It was Chase and Harlowe’s first visit and their toes never touched the sand but I think they learned there is no better place to nap than the beach.

This is my sister-in-law Kimberly holding Harlowe…

And my pensive older girls…

I think my twins are gifted. I know, I hate to be one of those moms. But I’m telling you – Chase and Harlowe know how to read. Impossible? Oh, you’re going to feel like such a fool. Look at the proof:

On Wednesday, I post about how I’m ready to fly to Paris in an effort to escape my chaotic, guilt-ridden, exhausting life with newborn twins.

On Wednesday night, the twins slept 5 beautiful hours straight.

Clearly, they’ve been reading my blog.

Because this extra sleep, along with the knowledge that my kids will be going to an Ivy League school, has really buoyed my spirits, I want to share a little bit more with you about my romantic entanglements,  friendships, brief encounters with Bruce Jenner and Nate Berkus at BlogHer.

As soon as I got to the NYC Hilton, I heard Bruce was in the house. Apparently hawking Tropicana orange juice. I guess, because juice rhymes with Bruce. Sort of the way, my Mouthy Housewives pal Wendi used to sell imitation Fendi on the streets of Austin.

I am fascinated by Bruce Jenner. Something about the fluffy hair, the abundance of facial work, the gold medal in the Decathlon, the lifelong commitment to juice. Despite their whining, I dragged Wendi and Marinka around the BlogHer expo hall in search of Bruce and they said supportive things like, “He’ll never accept you as his step-daughter just because your name starts with ‘K.’ You’re living in a dream world if you think you’re as fabulous as Kourtney, Kim or Khloe.”

Turns out, they were right, because all I got was a photo.  Although Bruce Jenner seemed very nice and if given enough time, I think I could convince him to raise me as a Kardashian.

On to Nate Berkus. I’m going to be honest. I didn’t exactly know who Nate Berkus was. I guest I missed the 45 billion times that he appeared on Oprah. Turns out, he’s this super cute, famous interior decorator who  threw a cocktail party at BlogHer to celebrate his new show.

But trying to get a photo with the guy is not easy. Because he’s very popular and was surrounded by very chatty bloggers. Apparently, all bloggers are not introverts. So I kept trying to get in there….

See, that’s him on the left. Me on the right. And a shiny brunette blocking my path.

I finally did get access to Nate.  But I didn’t really have time to chat with him because we were late to meet Pauline and Jennifer at Ruby Foos in Times Square so I just said (on the recommendation of Fendi Wendi)… “Love your throw pillows!!” and waved goodbye.

I’m pretty sure he’s going to put me on his new show.

P.S. Thank you to each and every one of you for your comments on my last post. You really do know how to make a gal feel better. xo