Cooking with Grammy

Marty and I babysat my 4 year old grandson, Addison, this past weekend. Excuse me, I mean I kidsat my grandson. My sister called while he was here. When I told her I was babysitting Addison, he corrected me. “Grammy, I’m not a baby.”

One of our favorite things to do together is cooking. Ever since Addison was small, I have let him help me cook. I used to hold him while I stood at the stove. I would explain to him everything that I was doing even when he was 6 months old. This past weekend he insisted on pulling a chair over to the stove so that he could watch and help me. I measured out the ingredients and let him pour them in the bowl. He is getting pretty skilled now but it used to be when I let go of the spoon or the cup I didn’t know where the ingredients were going to end up. Some of it did actually make it into the bowl, but a lot of it ended up on the counter, the floor, or the dogs.

This weekend, I let him help set the table and I asked him to take his plate to the sink when he was through eating. I also let him help me make fruit salad. I put orange juice in the bowls to keep the fruit from turning brown. Then I let him stir it after I put the cut up apples in. I also had him cut up the bananas with a butter knife. He let me know that he is not allowed to touch knives but I showed him that this knife couldn’t cut him. I cooked about a dozen sausage patties and put them on a paper towel in a plate. I let him carry them to the table. The dogs sniffed at the plate as he was walking. His carrying height for plates is well within the dogs’ snatching range. He tried to protect the sausage by holding the plate at a 45 degree angle above his head. I pictured the sausages all sliding off the plate and landing in the dogs’ eating range. With the hair of four dogs swirling throughout the house, I am sure not going to eat anything off my floor.

Earlier Addison brought one of his Legos® to me because it had a dog hair on it. I pulled it off. He said “How did that happen, Grammy?” I said, “There is dog hair everywhere in Grammy’s house.” He looked straight up and said, “I don’t see any on the ceiling.” I had to admit that even in my house, there is no dog hair on the ceiling.