Last weekend, we took Ethan (age four) to a Bees game, which is the minor league team here in Salt Lake City.  He and I were bonding over our love of hot dogs.  He asked if he could get one for dinner at the game. “You have to get a hot dog at a baseball game,” I said.  “Anything else would be un-American.” My boyfriend, Matt (Ethan’s dad), didn’t agree.  “You two enjoy that,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the thought of overpriced and nitrate-loaded junk food.  “I’m getting something else.” “Is it because you want the terrorists to win?” I asked sarcastically. Before I could add “Why do…