Portrait of a Boy Baking Brownies
I DO THIS ONE, said Owen.
Let me help you, I offered, leaning over him.
I CAN DO IT MYSELF, said he.
And with the force exerted by an independent five year-old’s fist, the egg imploded and while half of the yolk ended up in the bowl with bits and pieces of shell, the rest of it splattered all over my shirt, on the right leg of my jeans, on the countertop and proceeded to dribble slowly down the chair onto the floor.
I’m sorry? said Owen meekly, holding his sticky fingers out to me.
That’s okay, I said, taking in the scene, trying not to make him feel worse.
I think next time we should do it together, I suggested.
Yes, we should, he complied.
And then he wiped his hands on my shirt.
THANK YOU, LAURA, he said.
You are welcome, dear Owen.
I helped him down off the chair. Together we stepped over the oozing egg on the floor and headed toward the sink.
This story makes me so look forward to cooking with my kids!
It sounds like Owen and I have the same method for cracking eggs.
Sliding knee tackle.
Cooking with kids is the best. Until they start fighting that they want to use food coloring to dye the brownie batter and you try to explain that dying chocolate colored things doesn’t really work, better with vanilla, etc. and they’re all NOOOOOOOOOOOO I WANT HOT PINK BROWNIES and you’re all EVERYONE GO TO YOUR ROOM WHILE LAURA EATS THE BATTER IN ONE LARGE GULP. Ahem. I mean. Have fun with that, Abbie. It will be warm and touching and memorable.
James – I definitely see parallels between your culinary prowess and Owen’s.
I think this is my favorite post yet (I’ve been reading you’re blog since Ashley tipped me off to it – see my wedding comment). It is so perfect, and I think you should make it into a book.
My favorite part you ask? The fact that “I’m sorry” comes in the form of a question.