One of my daughter’s favorite things to do is help me in the kitchen. If she hears me so much as pick up a fork, she runs in, drags the step-stool across the floor, and climbs up to see what I’m doing. This morning I was chopping sweet potatoes, beets, and turnips to roast for lunch (toss with olive oil, s & p, and thyme: yummy). She picked up a snub-nosed sweet potato and said, “It’s like a pig!” Huh? “It’s like a pig! I can give her a kiss. It’s my buddy! She’s really so nice. It’s like a baby!” and so on. She was enamored. She hugged, kissed, diapered, and fed her little Pig. Unfortunately, I was unable to capture Pig rolling over, which she did with great skill.
P.S. See that pasta maker in the background? It’s my birthday present from Dave’s parents. I’m going to have a date with it very soon. With any luck, we’ll enjoy our fresh spaghetti as much as this kid.