My Son's Imaginary Restaurant

My five-year-old has opened an imaginary restaurant in our living room called "Café Max." It's open every evening from six to six-thirty. Reservations are required. The menu changes daily.

He writes the menus himself, in crayon, with very creative spelling. "Spageti with Dinosors." "Chiken Nugits (Fancee)." "Ise Creem Soop." He takes our orders on a little notepad, very seriously. Then he goes into the kitchen, which is behind the couch, and "cooks."

The food is invisible. The service is excellent. He asks if everything is okay with our meal. He brings us the check, which is usually "a hundred dollars and a hug."

Last night, he came out from behind the couch and said, "I'm sorry, we're out of dinosaurs." We said we'd have the soup. He said that was a very good choice.