This is just a note to say. . .

Dear Ari,

Just a quick note to tell you I love you. I do. Even though you stole the giant yogurt container of soup that was thawing on the kitchen counter. You know the one—it contained the homemade broccoli soup, that I made from scratch. You might even remember the day I sautéed the leeks, added diced carrot, celery, and potato. That I blended the perfectly caramelized vegetables with homemade chicken stock (which had reduced for a full day until it reached the perfect flavor and consistency). That I added the frozen broccoli—the Ziploc bags full of the veggies I picked with my own hand, then blanched in a scorching July kitchen so that we would have good produce even during the long winter. The soup that simmered all last Sunday, giving me the time I needed to perfect the spices—a little salt and pepper, a little thyme, a pinch of nutmeg. And when I finished that labor of love (and really, it was love that motivated me), I carefully ladled the soup into large yogurt containers and placed them in our chest freezer so that, on a day like today, I could take one out of the basement and know that a wholesome lunch awaited me. Which is why, of course, the broccoli soup (have I mentioned yet that you don’t even LIKE broccoli?) was thawing on the counter near the woodstove today, when I innocently left the house just long enough to run some errands. And, which is also why I am now writing you this letter. Because I want you to know that even though you stole my soup and somehow managed to lug the still-frozen container up to my bedroom, where you tore it open with your wolfie fangs until it looked like it had been a victim of an exuberant target practice, and then proceeded to gnaw on the soupcicle until it was almost gone and you got bored (or full) and thus allowed the rest of the thawing soup to seep onto the lovely Persian rug that Greg’s father gave to us, I still love you. I do—even though I did not have much for lunch today. And even though you feigned innocence on the bed—MY bed, I might add—while I cleaned the carpet. Because, when it comes right down to it, you are worth a frozen container of soup. And, at least I know you got your vegetables.

Yours,
Kathryn