Soup for My Soul
I can't tell you how nice it is to have help in the kitchen! No, I don't pay for it, and yes, it's true that you get what you do (or don't) pay for, which means there's always an extra amount of flour dusting the countertops and laminate flooring, and a few small eggshells in our blueberry muffins by the time we're done- but the company's worth it.
And recently, instead of helping me with whatever I'm cooking, Evan has begun to whip up something of his own alongside me. When he sees me pull out the heavy stock pot to start on some soup, he quickly runs to fetch his things, lugs them all into the kitchen, climbs up the white couch, and fights for his own counter space. His friend Grace gave him a wooden cutting board, wooden knife, and wooden vegetables that chop apart with a shredding rrrriiiip of Velcro. So as I chop green peppers, he chops green peppers, and we toss them into our stock pots- me into my heavy Calphalon pot and him into his plastic, yellow one.
This last time he was a consistent step ahead of me the whole recipe: Now it's time for the broth! and now I just need to get my basil! He talked my ear off about every detail of his cooking and I was tempted to phone Food Network and see if they'd be interested in signing a contract. Oh, how I hope he still loves to cook with me come high school!
Shaun heard all the commotion and stopped by to ask, "Evan, are you talking up a storm in here?"
"No, daddy! I'm not talking about a storm, I'm talking about soup!"
