I used to love to cook, but lately...I have to admit, cooking isn't my top priority. So I let my kids make dinner last night. But really, they insisted on helping and then took over.
Amaya did the potatoes and Rio was in charge of the griddle.
"Mom! I'm bleeding!" Amaya panicked. "It stings! It stings, it stings, it stings."
"Stop being so dramatic. Go get a band aid," I told her.
"Rio! Go get me a band aid," she ordered.
"No...you go get it!" he responded back. "You're not dying!"
The second Amaya left the sink, Rio was in her spot, peeling her potatoes. Amaya came back to the kitchen to find her little brother doing her job.
"Mom! He's in my spot!" she protested. "Fine, Rio...I'm going to do your job then." She tried to control the situation. "Rio, where's the spatula?" she demanded, holding out her hand.
Rio didn't answer, he just kept quietly peeling the potatoes. This infuriated her.
"Rio, the hamburger patties are burning! I have to flip them! Mauuuuum..."
"Someone please flip the patties," I demanded.
"Rio, don't use that!" Amaya bossed. "Mom he hid the spatula on the floor, under the cabinets...gross."
"What?" Rio answered the look I shot him, while he wiped the spatula off on the front of his shirt.
"Wash it," I told him. "We don't use cooking utensils that have been on the ground."
The end result. Well done hamburger patties, unevenly cooked potatoes, burnt corn, and a gallon of lumpy gravy.
"Why does my stomach hurt so bad?" My husband moaned after our chefs were in bed.
I cited the obvious. This could do wonders for our waistlines.
.




