Napkins Please

I have noticed a disturbing trend in the amount of napkins passed through a fast food drive thru window.

Namely that the amount is decreasing as time goes by and occasionally, none make the passage from restaurant to car.  That’s right, no napkins what. so. ever.

This is a photo of a kid taken by another kid. According to the bag in her hand it is clear that both of them will soon be in the need of many napkins. I had no idea this picture was being taken, I was driving. (Side note: When you save a million photos you really can find a picture for everything…)

Possibly you are mentally praising these fine establishments for their environmentally friendly practices as well as their money saving techniques. Fine, sure, that’s a factor. In fact I’m sure that piles of math people put a bunch of factors together and decided that if they stopped handing out napkins to poor deserving mothers, they would save 7,00,000,000 trees per year.

But here is some math of my own for you.

3 kids+ 1 moving vehicle+ any kind of food = the need for 5,678 napkins per child

Possibly some of you are mentally scolding me for letting my children eat in the car or eating from fast food establishments to begin with.  I’d argue that point except the thought of not feeding my kids while driving made me snort diet coke out my nose with laughter.


Not an option.

Question: Solve for X,  3 kids + 1 truck + 4 hours of driving + X = 30 min of quiet

Answer: French fries

Possibly you are thinking we could use our own hand towels. And I have! I have wiped up ketchup spills with dirty socks and mopped spilled drinks with shirts I found crammed under the seat and used the pants that were still in the back from the last major food catastrophe to clean up the current one. But you know what happens to those lovely reusable bits of cloth.


Because if I were the kind of person who took everything out of the vehicle once we got home, I wouldn’t have had any “napkins” to begin with.

Question: If one mom has two hands and three kids have six hands and there are 45,689 items in the truck that should come into the house and mom has to pee, how many things make it through the front door?

Answer:  7: a cell phone, two “don’t-touch-it’s-special-to-me” toys and four pieces of junk mail.

And one final math problem for you.

Question: If three kids change their orders 3.4 times each, what is the percentage chance that the mother will also remember to ask for napkins when picking the food up at the window?

Answer: 0%

Extra credit: How many orders will she get wrong?

Answer: 1.3 but only because the kids changed their mind again after the order was placed.

In conclusion: Give a mother some napkins!  The math says she needs them.




Eating Out

As I was going through drafts of posts that had been started and then abandoned I found this one from back in February all written up and ready to go. I’m not sure why I passed it over the first time but it made me laugh when I read it now. I hope you enjoy it as well.


We were headed home on Sunday and the weather and roads were, shall we say, less than ideal. After about two hours of driving we made a stop for dinner. While all five of us got out of the truck and went into eat for the purposes of describing what life with a three year old is like I’m going to ignore them all (sorry guys) and just tell you what Clara was up to.

First, she needed to be carried in, but not by Dad, by Mom. She did ask very politely – so I carried her inside.

When it came time to order it required physically holding of her face in front of mine to get her to focus and discuss with me what she might possibly eat for dinner.

While we waited for our food in the empty (remember the roads) restaurant we let the kids go nuts over in our corner and Clara careened around tables and ran into chairs (and I do mean that literally)  until it was time to sit down.

Dinner came and it was great.

Until the star of our story tried it, deemed it icky, bad and too spicy as she chewed and spit back out multiple bites.

“Done” with her dinner Clara moved on to her ice water and promptly spilled it down the front of herself.

All of it.

Since Clara’s reaction to spilled water is akin to that of the Wicked Witch of the West I decided we were going back to the truck for pajamas (we still had a few hours of driving left) and made a pit stop at the bathroom on the way out.

In the bathroom she refused to use the toilet while managing to pull the Koala Kare changing table down and bonking herself in the head at least three times before I got her back out, grabbed her hand and told her we were going to the truck.

Frustrated and tired from the circus that was dinner I was doing my best to stay pleasant walking hand in hand with the anarchist. As Clara happily approached the truck my mentally planning of how I was going to get some sort of chocolate fix for the rest of the drive home was interrupted as she piped up with:

“Yeah, I was gettin’ bored here.”


The face that results from asking Clara to “smile.”

I did a mental head slap, stuffed her in her p.j.’s and braced myself for the rest of the “boring” ride home.