Mother's Little Helper

M. Edium loves to help his parents with stuff, but his mom is much more open about letting him help than I am. I generally let him do just enough to humor him, the minimum to let him feel involved. The other night I realized how my wife's approach is paying off better.

The two of them had gone apple picking a few days before, and I had just sliced up a dozen or more of them. After some dithering about which recipes (plural) we were going to attempt, we realized that those paper-thin apple slices were already turning brown before our eyes. My wife ordered us both into action: I was to get the oats and brown sugar out of the pantry, and M. Edium was to get a stick of butter out of the fridge. He got finished with his task before I did, without even being told where to look. When she had him add ingredients, they all ended up in the mixing bowl, as opposed to past occasions where they ended up in the mixing bowl, on the counter around the mixing bowl, on the floor around the counter, and in M. Edium's hair. He was, no two ways about it, an asset.

By the time the apple crisp was in the oven, I was feeling pretty bad about not letting him help more with the pancakes I'd made us for breakfast that very morning. Next weekend, I might even let him try some solo.

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Mother's Little Helper

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