Sushi Baby

It was right after Paul and I wed, a week after the honeymoon, that we were in my hometown of Belvedere, Calif., in a pizza shop. I have never forgotten the little boy and his mother who took a table next to ours. She opened a menu and began to plot their order. But the 5-year-old was unimpressed. "I want sushi!" he whined. I distinctly remember hoping that one day my kids would like sushi as much as I do.

On Friday night, with Paba visiting, we ordered from our local favorite, Momo Sushi, for some takeout. Harry had already eaten, if you can call what he does these days eating (my one-time linebacker has totally lost interest in food, how can that be?) and raced to the table. Surveying a large plate of nigiri, he selected a piece of rice topped with orange fish eggs. Scooping the eggs out with his finger and depositing them in his mouth he smiled wide and declared "I love it!" This is a boy who has never declared love for anything except his parents while under duress.