Waffles

I am fast discovering that I have a very independent child. Case in point:

This morning, Jack and I had a minor disagreement when I was going down the stairs to make him some breakfast. We'd had the same disagreement moments before when I went to get him some milk. He wanted me to carry him down, but the deal is, he's got to meet me halfway and at least be standing so I can pick him up...not be laying down wailing so I have to scoop him off the floor like a sack of potatoes. He knows this is the way it works. And so, when he didn't get off the floor, I said I had to finish getting ready and he could have waffles after I was done, and I returned to my bathroom.

I turned on the blow-dryer and dried my hair, and when I was done, I could hear some crinkling downstairs and thought "oh, good! he's getting some cereal from the pantry" and went on to straightening my hair. When I finished that, I put on my clothes, gathered Jack's things and headed downstairs. When I turned the corner to the kitchen, I found that he had moved his stool to the counter and was sitting on the counter top.

In front of him was a brand new box of waffles, newly opened, and the bag the waffles are in, also newly opened. In each of his little hands were a frozen waffle, and in the toaster, were 2 waffles, cooking away. When he turned and saw me, he said "I'm makin' waffles Mama!" and shoving the waffles in his hands in the air followed up with "and I'm gonna make you some too!"

I moved to the counter to put the bag of thawing waffles back into its box and return it to the freezer and complimented him on doing this all by himself. I mentioned what a great job he did opening the box without ripping it and he then informed me that he opened the bag with a knife. "What knife?!" I exclaimed, opening the knife drawer while he pointed down and said "that knife." "Which one? Show me which one!" and he matter of factly pointed to the largest knife in the drawer, our bread knife. I was simultaneously thrilled he had chosen a serrated knife and nauseated that he'd used a knife at all.

About that time, the waffles popped up in the toaster, he took them out and put the next two in. I asked if he wanted them cut and with syrup to take to school, and he let me finish the job for him, taking my waffles from the toaster for me when they were ready, and asking for juice to take along as well.

I poured, changed him into school clothes, and away we went, me and my little independent chef.