Sunday was one of those baby days. Perhaps you know them?
It was all my fault. I planted the seeds the day before. On Saturday the Southern California Contingent of the
So lulling me into a false sense of security, that night he slept. But of course, the next day he was not interested at all in his normal nap. After finally going to sleep, he woke up early and crabby. I had all sorts of things planned for that precious nap time - mostly kitchen-cleaning kinds of things as I'd been too lazy the night before after everyone left to finish tidying up.
This cranky toddler/needing to get stuff done situation called for some creative mama thinking. Homemade play dough was the solution I proudly settled upon. I found several recipes online and began scanning, " Ages 2 and above....yada...yada...flour ...salt...water...yada...yada." So, begrudgingly in the highchair he went while I quickly distracted him with measuring cups and spoons and a metal mixing bowl, and huzzah, the sifter! In goes a cup of flour, out goes the recipe as we get to the part about cooking it over medium heat until a dough forms. Forget that, this was an emergency, we were playing with flour.
So that kept him entertained for 7 minutes. Enough time for me to wash one sink-full of dishes, and enough time for him to create approximately 14 minutes of mess. A cup of flour was now spread over the entire surface of my kitchen. I had never realized how much a cup of flour really is.
So crabby-pants, insisting that he would spend no more time in his chair, became quite adamant about having something from the fridge. He found a small plastic cup of fruit salad that I had packed for someone to take home. Perfect. He could absolutely have that. (Normally he pulls out a glass bottle of ketchup or beer. I am so tired of saying no...no wonder that is such a huge part of a toddler's vocabulary. I really need to work on that.)
So I pulled up his little stool, and sat him down with his cup of fruit salad (thank you Alice, and whoever didn't bring home their left-overs). Carefully picking away at the little cut-up pieces kept him entertained for much longer than the flour, until about half-way though when he overturned the bowl. So now, let me remind you, I am going through all these lengths to keep him entertained in the kitchen to give me time to clean up. Well, now the floor is covered in both flour and fruit salad and he's up and moving and squishing around in his cute little high tops.
So we abandon the kitchen and decide to go do laundry instead. Of course, there's a load already in the washing machine that has grown smelly, so I restart it, lift the boy off the dryer and he goes straight for the broom.
He marches it out to the kitchen and begins sweeping at his mess. "That's so cute, and yet, so, so not helpful," I think as he squishes the dry bristles around in fruit salad and into the flour, joining the broom and floor in the holy matrimony of fruity smelling kitchen cement.
So at that point, I give up, pick up the fruit and flour covered child and march him to the car. "We are going somewhere," I announce. Once we're both buckled in I realize where.
The Green Temple in Redondo Beach.
It's just a short drive up the coast, and we arrive just before they open for dinner at 5:00. This gives us time to wander through the coutryard, watch the fish in the fountain, repeatedly climb the stairs, and generally soak up a bit of the peace and calm that this small restaurant radiates.
At 5, we scooch into a cozy booth in the corner inside, as it's a bit chilly in that beautiful courtyard today. The waitress who exudes that same sense of inner peace that the rest of the place does is clearly nourished on zen meditation and the wholesome cuisine that Green Temple serves. She brings us both water, mine in a tall glass without ice, and Desmond's in a small plastic cup with a lid, filled half way, exactly as I would have asked.
We order the bowl of greens and a side of tofu. Desmond makes friends with the neighbors, and when the food comes, it's perfect. The greens are served over organic brown rice and black beans, topped with The Sauce. The Sauce is quite possibly either the reason you're here or the reason you avoid this place. For such a simple food, it inspires passion. This passion snuck up on me. To be honest I didn't used to be that crazy about The Sauce, but now I can't get enough. The Sauce is incredibly addicting, a rich savory tofu cream that Paul loves and Desmond won't touch. Fortunately the tofu comes in a perfect little cup on a saucer with a side of the sauce for dipping. I shake some of the seasoned cubes out onto the plate for the boy, who contentedly sets to munching while I take a deep breath and enjoy my healthy meal.
We leave, calm, nourished, and with just enough time to bathe the kid and put him to bed, where he thankfully sleeps through the night. Hallelujah.
