So tonight, after a long week with many challenges, some still unmet, Steph and I decided that neither of us wanted to cook. Eli went to his Mimi’s house and that left the three of us. The weather forced the cancellation of Neal’s t-ball practice so we decided to take him and go out to dinner.

He and I had recently made a trip to the new Kyoto Japanese restaurant in the “new” Kroger shopping center to get Mommy some take out one night. Neal watched, from afar, in wide-eyed wonder at the hibachi masters as they worked magic with spatulas, eggs and fire. I asked him if he wanted to get closer so he could see better, but he was content to observe from a distance. I then asked him if he would want to come back some time so we could sit at the table and watch them better. He silently nodded, still staring at the flames shooting out of the onion volcano. So tonight was the night.

I’ve never been so proud of my boy as I was tonight. I watched him eat, using chopsticks no less, some of everything put on his plate. He turned his soup bowl up and drank it down like nobody’s business. He ate mushrooms, broccoli, zucchini, rice, more rice and shrimp. He clapped at the onion volcano and said thank you when his food was placed on his plate. He said thanks and bye to the lady who collected our money and the nice Mr. Ben, whom he remembered from the last time we were there.

We walked out to the car and got in and we both told him how proud we were that he was our son. I asked him if he liked the Japanese. He nodded that slow and steady nod that was purposeful, yet sleepy. We pulled out of the parking lot and within three minutes he was zonked.

That’s my boy.


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