When last we left Emma, she was doggedly trying to convince me to shoot another video instead of eating breakfast. I should have taken this as some greater wisdom from the mouths of babes that we feed on creativity more than food, but it was way too early in the morning for such insight.
Even though shooting another video would have indeed been cute, breakfast inevitably won.
Or so I had thought. Determined to express her creativity in some way lest she pop, Emma insisted that we "cook" something if she wasn't getting her video
Now, for those who don't know me, I'm not really what one could call a "cook". I leave that delicious honor to my husband whose personality yields much better to something as extemperaenous and artistic as cooking. While I have and do dabble in baking, the kitchen firmly belongs to my husband, and as long as I keep the dishes clean, we both like it that way.
Emma seems to favor Mike when it comes to the kitchen in that she has been bitten by the cooking bug. One time I let her help me bake and the rest was history. Now I can't even pour myself Cheerios in the morning without her insistence that she help me "mix it."
At first this persistence annoyed me. I just wanna eat! All I want is to make myself a quick breakfast so we can move on with our day. I don't want to spend twenty minutes pouring myself a bowl of Cheerios just to appease my kid.
But then I remind myself that one day, she's probably going to hate my guts. She isn't going to want to spend time with me. She isn't going to chase me around all morning talking about my eyebrows, and asking me to shoot videos of her. Instead it's going to be the other way around and I'm going to be chasing her. I need to soak up every minute of her sunshine while I can and so that's what I did.
Twenty minutes later, I finally had my bowl of Cheerios, expertly poured and mixed with love by my two-year-old, Emma.
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