I've been growing my own broccoli starts in little peat pots so that I can transplant them into our garden in a few weeks. The starts are sitting in the sun of the living room window, semi-protected behind two chairs. 'Semi-' being the key word. Last Sunday, while Kathy and Brice and their girls were here, I heard Billy say, "Oh no, Abigail, we don't play with the broccoli." I cringed and hustled to the living room to inspect the damage. Fortunately, Billy had scared Abigail away before she'd actually gotten to the broccoli. As I was leaning in to check on the plants and straighten one of the little starts, I heard a very serious--very serious--voice say, "Oh, we don't touch those." I quickly turned, and there was Seda staring as me intently. The look she was giving me tied my tongue. All my explanations about how the broccoli was mine and so I was allowed to touch it suddenly became completely inadequate. I humbly acknowledged that she was right, and we left the broccoli alone.
I'll straighten my little starts another day.


















