Guess it had to happen eventually. My baby is no longer a baby. Dammit.
My youngest monkey (age 6) cooked dinner for the family tonight. Well, he baked a frozen pizza. But still, he felt very accomplished! He added all the extra turkey pepperoni to it by himself, put it into the oven (under extremely close Mom-type supervision), set the timer, checked it at the halfway point, etc. He got all the salad fixin’s out of the fridge and set up a salad bar on the kitchen counter. He even put lettuce in his salad…not just olives, croutons, and dressing. Oh, he’s growing up!
I’m sort of torn as to how I feel about all of this. Part of me is sad that my baby is getting big. Part of me is really proud of him. Part of me thinks that if I can train each child to cook just one meal I’ll be sitting fucking pretty three nights a week! Lazy, me? Nah.
Until next time,