Yesterday I made stir fry for dinner. It was my first meal since having my last wisdom tooth removed on Monday morning—I had been living purely on pudding and Pirate's Booty
in the meantime. Stir fry was kind of a big leap but I was hungry
. Plus, it was on the calendar (I recently started calendaring my monthly menus again because I can never think of what to make for dinner) and I didn't have any other ideas.
While I was stirring and frying the vegetables I did not
notice Miriam waltz into the kitchen and drag a stool over to the counter. I had the fan on and the vegetables were sizzling and it was just loud. The first thing I remember hearing was her sweet—and very excited—voice squeal, "Mimi's helping!"
I turned around to see my 22-month-old baby wielding a steak knife!
She looked a little offended when I snatched the knife away and scolded her.
"We don't play with knives! What are you doing up there?!"
"Mimi's cutting," she offered timidly.
And indeed she had been.
We have been hoarding garden vegetables on our kitchen counter. My cousin brought by a bunch of tomatoes on Sunday and earlier on Tuesday a neighbour called and invited Grandma to get some tomatoes from her garden as well—Grandma came home with a bag of tomatoes and two zucchini.
Miriam had pushed and pulled a stool over to the counter, opened the drawer holding the sharp knives, grabbed a juicy tomato and cut it in half. She didn't think I had any room to be upset—after all, she was helping
me. She doesn't seem to understand that babies using knives is a big no-no. Apparently.
Rachel suggested we all look at the bright side by pointing out that "she didn't even cut any of her fingers off!"
happy about that last part.