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The other night, my husband and I were enjoying a quiet, romantic dinner at an Italian restaurant we love for very different reasons. Glenn loves it because the pasta sauce is hearty and spicy, the service is friendly, and the prices are reasonable. For me, it’s all about the generously-sized wine glasses (my needs simplify as I age). Unfortunately, our meal was marred by the antics of some ill-mannered kids who were wrestling under one of the tables. Even more inconveniently, they were our kids.

When our boys were babies, restaurant dining was so much simpler. We’d call ahead and ask one vital question. We didn’t care if the health department had recently condemned the place, or whether there was a two-hour wait for a table, or even if they had tables. A ceiling fan was all we required. We’d plop our kids under the fan and they’d stare at it, mesmerized, their little eyes rolling around in their heads, until they were drooling and nearly comatose. It probably cost them a few dozen I.Q. points, but hey – we got to eat!