My ten year old Tator asked if he could cook dinner a little before 5:00 this evening. He claimed to be starving. I agreed to let him begin quite certain I'd drag myself to the kitchen to help at some point. Guess what? I didn't have to intervene once. He cooked broccoli, spaghetti, browned ground beef, and followed directions for chili sauce all on his own. The table was set and the food on the table before 6:00. I expected the kitchen to be in considerable disarray, but that was not the case either. He'd put many things away as he went. Gasp!
Mom, when you read this post, do not be alarmed or terrified as I was only one room away and listening carefully for any signs of a struggle or funky dangerous burning smells. Your grandchildren are completely unharmed and increasingly growing slowly toward a pleasant independence.
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