One of the sure fire signs of summer* is fresh corn on the cob. It's amazing roasted over an open fire, or simply boiled according to this classic recipe**:
Even my normally veggie-loathing small children adored the ritual of gnawing their way delightedly along a hot ear of sweet, juicy goodness, usually winding up with a sheen of leftover melted butter gleaming on their grinning faces.
So when this happened:
I'm referring to losing their front teeth, not having to hold a giant slimy toad
It was devastating.
No teeth = No corn.
Wobbly lower lip. Brimming eyes.
Mom with a big sharp knife.
Flick! The cob tilted over the plate. Golden kernels pouring down in a stream into a messy, gloriously edible pile.
Wide, astonished, hopeful eyes.
"Mommy! Can you rain my corn***, too?"
You bet.
As a bonus, I'll bake it with a little butter, and turn it into sweet-salty-creamy-dreamy-almost-better-than-corn-on-the-cob corn.
Moms are magic like that.


