Margaret likes cooking.
And this is a good thing, because perhaps the most fraught time of my day is when both of my children are getting tired, Leo is not yet home, and I am desperately trying to get food out on the table for them. And me, you know, but mostly them.
Anyway, there have been a number of recent innovations, but the one that is the most photogenic is that I put Margaret in charge of stirring the pasta or rice or potatoes that are boiling on the stove. It's a little nerve wracking, since she is sitting next to the OPEN FLAMES and getting near BOILING WATER and the opportunities for disaster are many and multitudinous, but I'm learning to ignore the part of me that is absolutely terrified by this. Because she can figure it out, and if we keep up at this pace, she may be able to cook me dinner when she's 8. And that would be heaven.
She takes her job very seriously.
And if you were wondering, she does it very well. Ellie, if you were worried, is behind me, sitting in her highchair, eating handfuls of cereal and wondering why exactly we are making this fuss, because she is fine without any dinner except what we've given her.
Except that when we sit at the table, she is very serious about demanding that she get EXACTLY WHAT WE ARE EATING, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.
And for a baby without very many words, she is exceptionally expressive when the spirit moves her. The spirit moves her around mealtimes.