Like most three-year-olds, Ben is in total helper stage right now. He's our little shadow, wanting to do whatever we are doing, whether it's mowing the lawn (pushing his toy mower while Daddy mows), washing dishes (which involves washing soap bubbles off plates with the sprayer - and spraying Mom a bit while he's at it), or doing laundry (throwing clothes in the dryer - even the ones that haven't actually been washed yet). When I cut our modest broccoli harvest from our little garden and began separating out the stems, leaves and flowers, he was right there with me, helping cut with his butter knife and build little piles of veg.
So I felt terrible when, as he was "helping" stir a big bowl of hot broccoli puree for a future broccoli soup, the bowl tipped and hot liquid spilled all over him.
There was a moment of stunned silence. And then the scream.
It's amazing how quickly one moves when your child is hurt. I swooped up my screaming child while swiping puree off his little arms, five seconds to the shower, spraying him down, clothes and all. I grabbed the burn spray, then the children's Tylenol, and finally he calmed down and I realized, thankfully, he was more scared than hurt. No real burns on his little arms, and ten minutes later he was acting as if nothing happened.
But it was one of those moments of checking in on my parenting tactics. Here I am, cooking broccoli three different ways simultaneously (stems = pureed, leaves = sauteed, flowers = roasted), mixing a quick dip for my roasted broccoli, and thinking I'm doing a good job as a mom since I'm a) feeding my child nourishing food and b) involving him at every step along the way...and the results of my effort are a nearly-injured toddler, a major mess in the kitchen, and an hour less of sleep as I clean it all up. The appeal of frozen pizzas becomes very apparent.
I fight my inclination to constantly protect my child, to always be cautioning him, to keep him always entertained with the safe fluffy stuff of modern childhood - Disney movies, noisy battery-powered thingamajigs, video games on iPads - and instead try to include him in real life. And looking back on this little experience, I realize that if he only learns one thing from me, I hope it is this: life is messy. Life sometimes hurts a little. There are easy paths in life, going with the crowd and doing as they do, but oh, it is so much better to choose your path and really, truly, deeply embrace it. To take life and drink every last drop, suck out the last bit of marrow, be your beautiful unique perfectly imperfect self, laugh and cry and dance and work and play and create and do and breathe and love, broccoli burns and messy kitchen and all.
Can a three-year-old learn all that from a piece of broccoli? Maybe, maybe not, but I know this year's broccoli harvest gifted me with more than just dinner; it gave me a reminder of what life's all about.
There was a moment of stunned silence. And then the scream.
It's amazing how quickly one moves when your child is hurt. I swooped up my screaming child while swiping puree off his little arms, five seconds to the shower, spraying him down, clothes and all. I grabbed the burn spray, then the children's Tylenol, and finally he calmed down and I realized, thankfully, he was more scared than hurt. No real burns on his little arms, and ten minutes later he was acting as if nothing happened.
But it was one of those moments of checking in on my parenting tactics. Here I am, cooking broccoli three different ways simultaneously (stems = pureed, leaves = sauteed, flowers = roasted), mixing a quick dip for my roasted broccoli, and thinking I'm doing a good job as a mom since I'm a) feeding my child nourishing food and b) involving him at every step along the way...and the results of my effort are a nearly-injured toddler, a major mess in the kitchen, and an hour less of sleep as I clean it all up. The appeal of frozen pizzas becomes very apparent.
I fight my inclination to constantly protect my child, to always be cautioning him, to keep him always entertained with the safe fluffy stuff of modern childhood - Disney movies, noisy battery-powered thingamajigs, video games on iPads - and instead try to include him in real life. And looking back on this little experience, I realize that if he only learns one thing from me, I hope it is this: life is messy. Life sometimes hurts a little. There are easy paths in life, going with the crowd and doing as they do, but oh, it is so much better to choose your path and really, truly, deeply embrace it. To take life and drink every last drop, suck out the last bit of marrow, be your beautiful unique perfectly imperfect self, laugh and cry and dance and work and play and create and do and breathe and love, broccoli burns and messy kitchen and all.
Can a three-year-old learn all that from a piece of broccoli? Maybe, maybe not, but I know this year's broccoli harvest gifted me with more than just dinner; it gave me a reminder of what life's all about.
Roasted Broccoli
Thankfully, this was one positive outcome of the crazy evening. I heart roasted veggies, and broccoli is a perfect candidate for the hot oven.
To roast broccoli: chop a head of broccoli; separate out the flowers (keep the stems and leaves for stir-fry or soup). Add flowers to a rimmed baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil and toss so each piece is lightly coated. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and roast in a 400 degree oven for about 10 minutes or until the broccoli is tender and just starting to brown on the edges.
To make a dip for the roasted broccoli beauties, grab some mayonnaise (homemade mayo would be amazing here) and spruce it up with fresh lemon juice, chopped capers and some chopped fresh chives if you have them. Fresh herbs like tarragon would be lovely, too.
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