Toto, I don't think we're in Manhattan any more...

In the East Village when you walk into a restaurant with a child they scowl at you through very expensive and chic glasses and say, "We don't have high chairs."  Staring you down waiting for you to cower in defeat and run binki in your teeth for the stack of delivery menus in your apartment.  I mean the audacity of having children in the coolest city in North America.  (No offense to all of the other cool cities out there, but the Big Apple is THE Big Apple, just not the most kid friendly apple out there.)  

We have the opposite experience in Texas.  We open the door to restaurants here and the host or hostess bends down with a big smile and a southern twang, "Aren't you darlin'!  You want some crayons, Honey?"  Ah, Texas.  

The other sure sign that we are in Texas is that the pick up/drop off spots can be a little unconventional.  After a trip to Nana's house, I picked Lincoln up at a half way point so that it would be easy on us both.  Check it out.  Now they can add, toddler exchange to their list of services, which currently include: live bait, fire wood and hunting classes.  Good times!