A couple of mornings ago, BVZ and I were laying in bed playing with Lou when we heard Norah's door creak open and the pitter patter of pre-schooler feet. She went to the bathroom and then burst into our room and announced (in a very not-nice voice), "MOTHER YOU BETTER GET OUT OF THAT BED AND MAKE ME SOME BREAKFAST."
I was so shocked by 1) her volume, 2) her tone, and 3) her use of mother that I said (really, without thinking), "fat chance, make your own goddamn breakfast." She got wide eyed and I thought I was in big trouble, but she said, "really, can I, can I, can I?" Apparently, all the girl has ever wanted in the whole wide world is to make her own breakfast. She has now done it 3 days in a row. It takes approximately 17 hours.*
*She goes to the freezer, opens it (it is at her level, below the fridge) and pulls out 4 pancakes. I then have to set up her stool where she can reach a paper towel. She arranges said 4 pancakes on the paper towel. She then carries it across the kitchen and I have to then set up her stool at the microwave. She puts in the time (she just has to press 1 for 1 minute) and starts the microwave. I make her get off the stool so as not to get radiated. I then have to set up her stool on the other counter and she applies (with surprising dexterity) peanut butter. She then cuts up some fruit with a little help (and a real knife) and tries to convince me to let her put cool whip on the fruit. It works probably 25% of the time.