In the Makings

I always felt like I grew up in the kitchen, like so many self proclaimed foodies. My Grandma taught me how to cook. My mom taught me how to cook. I taught myself how to cook. I love it, desperately and controllingly sometimes.

Most chefs will tell you that in their earliest memories they are in the kitchen cooking. They were trusted with sharp knives and hot pots at an early age. While I think 2 years old is still a little early to be handing Gracie sharp instruments to help me dice with, she is becoming firmly ensconced next to me in the kitchen.

It’s like she knows what is going on. She uses all her strength to drag a kitchen chair to the counter and stand next to me. This weekend alone she assisted the seasoning of Irish stew (pouring the garlic powder and pepper), pumpkin pie (measuring and dumping the dry ingredients) and stuffed shells (handing me a new shell after taking a small nibble out of each one).

Sure, the recipes turned out a little off, but not enough to really matter. And if she can get 1.5 cups of sugar measured and into a bowl (more or less) at 2, what will she be able to create at 3? Plus, the sense of ownership and pride in helping is immeasurable, specifically because she ate like a champ this weekend.

Fine Arts

Gracie has developed another new skill. One that is very practical in my world.

The love on sauces and the ability to dip.

I made chicken the other day and overcooked it. Yeah, that happens every once in a while. So the savior of all dry chicken? BBQ sauce of course!

Gracie was fascinated. She kept pointing at the bottle and watching me dip my chicken. Hmmm... why not let her try some too.

At first, she just looked at it, so it dipped my finger and gave her a taste. Mmmmm. She then in turn dipped her finger, made one perfect index print on her cheek and then stuck it in her mouth. Mmmmm.

Then she screwed her face up and let out a shriek. OK, BBQ sauce (even though it was mild)probably wasn't the best choice to give to a 1 year old. She was thrilled with the experience though.

Next, she picked up a piece of chicken, and ever so delicately dipped the tip into the sauce. It looked like she was a painter about to put the first stoke onto her masterpiece. Mmmmm. And a shriek.

Again, she dipped the chicken into the BBQ sauce and put it into her mouth. Mmmmm. And a shriek. So I wiped away to sauce, which caused another round of shrieking, this time for a much less valid reason.

At dinner last night though I gave her some deconstructed chili: plain ground beef, kidney beans and a little glob of tomato sauce on her place to dip in. Mmmmmmmmm.

CheesieO's

Instead of being told that Gracie is a fighter everyday at daycare, I am now told about her snacking.

“That Grace, she just loves her cheese and Cheerios. I call her CheesieO’s!”

Today, Grace didn’t like the mashed bananas I sent for her breakfast, so they went straight to her little container of shredded cheddar & Cheerios.

Her Mama sensor must have gone off, because as soon as I walked in the door she looked up from her pile of snacks and smiled.

Big grin on her face, and a mouth packed full of Cherrios & strings of cheese hanging from her lip and forehead.

That’s my kid. Happy as a clam and loving the big girl status of self feeding.