When my elder kid turned 3, I excitedly gave him his very own copies of Salad People and Pretend Soup, cookbooks for preschoolers and up by Molly Katzen. I just couldn’t wait to cook with my kid. And then, of course, I waited. Though there were occasional flares of interest in the five years since I bought those books, neither of my kids really embraced cooking, at least not until recently. Recently, sometimes, there are salad people.

The truth is, I’m a hard person to share a kitchen with. I have all sorts of ideas about how to do things. Despite wanting to break away from rules and recipes, I have a tendency to believe my ways are the right and proper ways. I walk along behind people and “fix” things. I am a wealth of information and assistance. I am a problem.

If I’ve learned anything about cooking with kids, it’s this: back off and let them lead. My job is to get the ingredients, find the tools, possibly help prep, but maybe just take deeps breaths while it takes forever for someone else to peel an apple. The other night we had a dinner of chocolate banana shakes, pretend soup, salad people, and hide & seek muffins. Making dinner took about three hours, not counting the grocery shopping. It was messy. The  muffins were boring. It was far from the most nutritious meal we’ve ever sat down to. Everyone cooked though, and everyone ate. It was glorious.