Emma, again
Last night after 10pm, I was curled in bed reading a trashy romance novel waiting for Emma to fall asleep. It wasn’t happening. She insisted she was going to have a drink of juice, “just a small drink!” so I told her to go downstairs by herself and find her cup.
A few minutes later, after listening to her mutter to herself all the way down the stairs, “I go down stairs, just like a grown-up! See? I hold on.” and then hearing her talking to Ron and taking far longer than it would for juice, “I’m hungry Daddy!” I went downstairs to see what she was up to.
She and her father were at the counter, digging out bread and cheese.
“I making cheesy bread wif Daddy. I make you sooo happy!”
“You’re making cheesy bread with Daddy? To make me happy?” I asked her. She nodded. “You be soooo happy!”
“More like I feel sooo guilty.”
“I make you happy Mommy?”
“Yes. You make me happy.”
“I so happy!”
Ron was happy too, judging by how much laughing he was doing.
To make cheesy bread, just like Emma, you need a piece of bread, a large block of cheese, a knife (a grownup to use it) a plate and a microwave.
Put the bread on the plate. Get the grownup to slice 3 or 4 slices of cheese. Line up the cheese slices on the bread. Put the plate of bread in the microwave for 33 seconds. Now the grownup has to cut off the crust on three sides. The last side has the crust left on for a handle to pick up the bread with.
A grownup may have to life up the bread and blow on the back to cool it off. Eat in little tiny bites all the way around the edge.
It makes you feel better.
3 Responses to “Emma, again”
hhhoooowwwww cccuuuuttteeeee!!!!!!!! gotta love the little kiddos!
I “feel better” just reading about it. *grin*
[...] But in 2004, I wrote a few things that got submitted a few places. We toilet-trained Emma and I got hooked on the gym. Dare I say how much I miss it? I was shrinking, so I tried on some new clothes. I was even on the radio. Ron is extra-romantic. I wrote how I could be a better mother, about cheesy bread and mommy guilt, then I put my own mom up for auction. The kids teach each other “don’t poke the bear“. [...]