Mad Dog was home early to kick-off our weekend. He and I picked up the boys and after a slightly heated debate, landed on going to a Japanese hibachi restaurant. I like Japanese food and am thrilled that we don’t have to worry about egg cross-contamination for little T.Puzzle anymore. However, I’m not a big fan of flames shooting near my face (or the faces of my children for that matter), I don’t like having to catch food with my mouth (if you’ve done hibachi, you know exactly what I mean) and when I’m with my boys, I don’t enjoy the communal seating arrangement. My boys are too unpredictable to be seated at a table around a huge, scorching hot grill with strangers who may not understand that their boisterous nature is not malicious, it just is.
Case in point, we are seated with a family of three who had one boy. He appeared older and more calm than my boys. Even so, the parents didn’t flinch once as Full Speed launched his hotwheels at my plate and little T.Puzzle repeatedly stabbed Mad Dog with his fork (turned out that was his signal that he would like more chicken, please). But before we even got into the heart of the hibachi experience, a young couple was seated at our table. It took them less than two minutes to assess my children and they promptly asked to be relocated.
I was slightly indignant. Granted, the boys were in all their glory, but they calmed down nicely once their food arrived. I didn’t know going into the meal that they would be so well-behaved so I don’t have solid grounds for my indignation.
Still, did that just happen?
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