In the beginning...

Famous first words. If it's good enough for God then it's definitely good enough for me, right? A little nervous I have to admit but I think I'll muddle through. I have never had a problem with expressing myself. That's a good thing and sometimes a bad thing.
So, heregoes...
Tonight, my family, which consists of my husband our two girls our young boy and myself went to a new restaurant. It just opened this week and describes itself as offering Chicago style cuisine. I was excited. I like trying new places, new things. Ira, on the other hand does not. He likes routine, he likes the customary and expected. He was a good sport. When we came in we just seated ourselves down to an almost full restaurant. The place smelled great but nobody was eating. A sign I chose to ignore. We waited several minutes before our drink order was taken. The waitress was very young and probably not a waitress at all just the one in the family stuck with the job. She looked a little afraid. It looked like a family-run place because everyone looked related. The young sister waitress, the Mom cashier, the older sister hostessing. The older relative, could not distinguish a relation, running around looking worried and the three older men in the kitchen cooking. I mean cooking! I was excited. We gave our orders and waited. The kids were acting like kids do when they have to wait 35 minutes for a hot dog, Ira was getting annoyed. I was glad he had Michael Jordan posters to look at. I was trying to have a good time. I mean REALLY trying. I started to watch the people. Something I learned from my mother. The guy that was seated behind us left without paying his check. I figured this out by watching the conversation between the "hostess daughter" and the "cashier mom". She, "only left for a moment and this is what happened?". I think the guy just took advantage of that. The table of three, three booths up from us were angry that their orders were wrong, but it was cleared up and they ate their food and helped themselves to drink refills, no one noticed. The two men that were there before we were, got their food and enjoyed themselves. They ordered a lot of food between the two of them. I imagined they were from Chicago. Dying to get a little bit of hometown between their teeth.
Then our neighbors came in! We were so happy to see them! It's sad how much you do not see your neighbors in the winter. They came over said hello, don't ask me their names because I could not tell you. I am absolutely horrible with names. But luckily, my daughter who has the best memory remembered. I was so proud of her. They left, sat down and five minutes later, they got up to leave. When we asked them why they said because it would take an hour for a deep dish pizza! Ira rolled his eyes in agreement with them about leaving. I, on the other hand, was excited. A REAL deep dish pizza, Chi-town style! This is not a readily available thing in Texas. We did not order a deep dish pizza, maybe next time. I got polish sausage, Ira got Philly cheese steak sandwich and the kids got hot dogs.
The table of three that came in after us sat down, ordered when finally asked and looked around a while. The gentleman at the table left. I guess he decided he had time to run some errands. Two men came in and ordered a deep dish pizza and left. They too, had time to get a couple of things done in the mean time. See, to me this meant that the food was worth it. How did these people know this? Did they know about this restaurant before it opened? I wondered. A table of four left because they had been there 40 minutes. He told our hostess, "just forget it, this is taking too long."
The family was obviously stressed and rushing around. Mostly apologizing to tables about the wait because of the rush and call in orders. But I enjoyed the time. I was busy telling our oldest daughter about Chicago, real deep dish pizza and polish "sah-sage" on poppy seed buns. I enjoyed our young son initiating and leading dinner prayer by taking his dad's hand and his sister's sitting next to him. He loudly says "AMEN" at the end which to me is precious because it's just like Ira and Ira's dad. I enjoyed the family that was there before us bow their heads to have dinner prayer, too. I especially enjoyed our youngest daughter's whimsical theories. She is such a noticer, too. She comments on everyone and notices everything like, for example, the three people that came in after us. The gentleman came back with a bag of chips to share with the other two at the table. She tells us loud enough so that they can hear that she wants some chips, too. We quickly shush her. I enjoyed learning that my husband had a Walter Peyton poster just like the one behind us. Too bad that he doesn't know what happened to it.
Even though the kids were whining because they were hungry and our drinks were empty I was having a great time. I had hope. This was it. This was gonna be the place. They were going to find their groove and be the place around the corner from us that we could pop in and they would say, " do you want the regular?" and we would sit in "our" booth. The TV's in the corners would have vintage Bulls and Bears games playing. Ira would want to come here because he could watch old ESPN commentaries about Chicago teams.
We were here in the beginning. Witnessed the kinks, watched them work out. We would invite friends here. They would tell us how lucky we are to have such a great cozy place so close to us.
Then the food came...