Our Little Chef

This is our little chef. 

From toddlerhood, Elijah has come into the kitchen most evenings and asked the same (in his little boy mind) burning question: "Mommy, what are we having for dinner?" At 6, he's now learned not to express his disgust for the menu with a pinched nose, snort, or the altogether dastardly announcement of "Eeeww! Yuck!" because I've oh-so-lovingly taught him this means he won't be eating any food I prepare that night. Yep, he's on his own.

So what's a boy to do? Learn to cook! He loves it: baking, mixing, blending, dumping, sorting, or flipping - it does not matter. For Christmas last year, he found this chef set in his stocking and dutifully adorns it each time he enters the "mess hall." Each meal brings some new lesson and, every so often, an added responsibility - something that he's never tried before. As a kid, he just thinks it's cool. As a mom, I do, too, because it means he's learning math and organizational skills, not to mention multi-tasking and patience.

 One afternoon, our precious friend, Morgan, came over to hang out while E was in "master chef" mode. We snapped a picture for posterity. Wink, wink.

But there's another, even better, reason I love it (well, most days anyway): I get to spend time with my middle son. And those are memories I hope he holds dear well into manhood when his wife someday asks him, "Who taught you to cook?" and he answers, smiling, "My mom did."