Teppanyaki Talky

Dear Hagen, 

Last night, I took you and your sister to the Kobe restaurant where the chef grills your food right in front of you, with a big dash of showmanship and a side of dad jokes. You LOVED it, even though you wouldn't eat a single thing on the menu because the only things you're into eating right now are variations on bread + cheese. 

When the waitress took our order, she asked if anyone had any allergies, and we assured her we're all allergy-free. Then, another family was seated at our grill table, and you yelled to them: "ANYBODY GOT ANY ALLERGIES?!?" 

You loved the fire. "CAN WE DO THE FIRE THING AGAIN?!?" "HOW 'BOUT ANOTHER VOLCANO?"

The funniest thing was that you'd recently been caught drawing all over your arms with a magic marker. I gave you the standard, "Let's keep our art on paper, okay?" speech, and you told me. "It's not art! It's tattoos! I only have a few now, but when I have more adventures, I will earn even more, and I will have some right here!" (as you pointed to your pectoral area).

That's when I figured out you were pretending to be Maui from Moana, who has lots of tattoos to commemorate all the victories he's won. Not sure that you can accomplish the same look with Crayola, but more power to you. 

When the teppanyaki chef appeared, you immediately noticed his right arm was covered in tattoos. "HEY!" you said, "WE HAVE THE SAME TATTOOS!" and held up your little red arms. 

"Yours are better," he said. 

We came home, and I was treated to some after-dinner entertainment as Laney belted out the power ballad from Moana through her karaoke machine as you worked the spotlights. I tried to take a picture of you - because you were so invested in your stage craft - but you yelled at me: "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WATCHING THE SHOW!!"

...And I went to bed thinking, "I somehow gave birth to a cranky lighting tech who wants to hang out at Benihana." Genetics are weird, man. 

Love,

Mom