A couple of weeks ago, my son and I attempted homemade ravioli. I say attempted not because they didn’t taste good. (They tasted great!) I say this because in the midst of chaos–some foreseen, some not-so-much–we didn’t really seal the little ravioli pillows correctly. So ricotta leaked out into the water. Never fear: Every single one of the little guys was still eaten up, and since perfect ravioli wasn’t the goal, I’d consider it a smashing (smashed?) success.

I’ve been pulling kids up on the counter next to me (and sometimes sitting them in the bowl of the sink) for a little over a decade now. Initially, it was a strategy of containment. If I am cooking, I know where you and your fast little feet are, and what those little hands are dumping. But cooking has been a way that my kids and I create rich quality time together.

Near the end of the day, we are creating something nourishing together, learning a life skill, chatting about whatever, laughing, and sealing the memories with taste and sound and sight and  smell and touch. Somehow the mundane, to me, seems to take on a little magic. read more