March 20, 2008
Three years old is the age of the helper.
As soon as I went into the refrigerator and pulled out the lettuce Miles went running for the salad spinner. His salad spinner.
He shoved me out of the way in front of the sink, banging me in the shins with his chair. Frantic that I might dare to wash the lettuce without him, despite the fact that I repeatedly assured him that the job was all his.
If only they were that eager to help as they got older.
I may have to start making salad at 2 o’clock in the afternoon to have it ready in time for dinner when he helps, but could you deny that blurry little face?
Why yes, he is wearing hot pink nail polish. Sometimes a boy just feels the need to be pretty.
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