Let me just say that it started in Target--screaming. Crying. Tantrums. All by Isabella...nothing new really.
So, we had to leave.
Thinking things would be better once we got to Chili's was shot down right after the words I'll get started with a Presidente. Hold the salt.
Isabella threw--scratch that--launched a damn fork into the air. It was as if the thing was on a mission to space.
I peeked my head up above the side of our table. Thank God the fork didn't hit anyone.
And thank God the closest table to where it landed was full of margaritas and draft beer.
They laughed. I apologized.
Had to go out to the car and then come back in and apologize to them.
They loved her and laughed about it even more.
Pretty sure that table was meant to be our new bff's...