kids in public

Sometimes I am quite proud of my family. Well, I am always proud of my family, but occasionally this is elevated to a kind of smug satisfaction, for which the gods will no doubt punish me at some point.
Last night we went to a restaurant and ended up being seated just behind our doppelgangers. This family had two young boys, just like us, and a baby girl, just like us. Unlike us, however, the father yelled at the boys constantly, mostly to put away their GameBoys or PSPs or whatever and eat their food. The boys, unsurprisingly, did not appreciate this. The baby (and this is of course not her fault, she was a baby, for pete's sake) intermittently let out a high-pitched shriek the likes of which I never heard. People were looking around for the fire alarm, I swear.
Meanwhile, my boys colored on their placemats (not without Big Brother complaining that Little Brother was copying his answers for the word search, I admit) and ate without incident. Baby Sister ate copious amount of pineapple and only fussed a little when we weren't shoveling food at her fast enough. She eats a lot for a baby that only put on six ounces in the last three months, although she grew an inch taller, but I digress.
So I enjoyed my smug satisfaction, and did not think about the word that Little Brother wrote on the driveway in sidewalk chalk. Nobody's perfect, right?