The girls did the most remarkable thing last night. They came into the family room where we were chatting and asked the usual question, "What's for dinner?" Wayne replied without skipping a beat, "Whatchya fixin'?" Hmmmm... you could see those little minds deep in thought, the wheels turning, the hamsters struggling to stay on their little treadmills, and without so much as a "How do you do?" they headed off toward the kitchen.
Now mind you, the idea of my daughters in the kitchen unsupervised from the moment they were born until now has always made my liver pucker. I haven't been much for teaching either of them to cook yet. Elysse is more interested in asking questions than listening to instructions. She's helped with handing me ingredients and dumping the items I tell her to dump into the bowl. I've tried to teach her how to read a recipe, but her ADHD makes it difficult for her to sit still and listen. And Ronnie, of course, is only four years old and doesn't even cut her own food yet, let alone be allowed to use sharp knives or small appliances, much less the stove. I just keep telling myself I'll wait until they're older and more ready to listen and learn.
|Maybe we should stop taking them to Applebees so often.|
They are starting to bond with the wait-staff.
Fifteen or twenty minutes later, two adorable little waitresses in red aprons with their names on them (remember the ones you bought them for Christmas last year?) headed into the family room carrying bowls heaped high with an unknown culinary delight (or gastronomical disaster. Remember, these are the girls who wanted to dip cantaloupe in Hershey's syrup).
To our delight (and considerable relief), they had made us each a baby spinach salad with green peppers and diced tomato (already chopped from the night before), shredded cheddar cheese and a generous squirt of ranch dressing in the middle. I thought about getting up and cutting up some leftover grilled chicken to put on the salad, but then I thought, "they're perfect just the way they are. Why mess with it and give them the message that what they did wasn't good enough?" So I sat back and enjoyed the spinach salad my daughters had made for Wayne and me, and I choked back tears instead of chocolate covered cantaloupe. That was the best doggone salad I have ever tasted. Sometimes you just have to let go and let them teach themselves.
Thanks for the lesson, girls!
Talk to you later, Mom. I love you.