"You want to have stickies?" I grinned at Lola, trying to coax her attention from the current mess she was making in her bedroom.
Ray and I had decided to celebrate her return to health last night by making her favorite for dinner, French toast. We knew she'd be thrilled.
But we underestimated just how thrilled she was going to be.
All three of us were just hanging out in her bedroom as Ray was flicking hair binders at me from across the room. This was entertaining for the first 10, maybe, but then Lola caught on and began throwing them all around the room and I didn't want to spend 20 minutes searching for tiny hair bands. So the suggestion for "stickies" was to distract Lola.
And it worked.
She ran directly to the the kitchen and grabbed onto her booster chair, yelling, "Stickies! Stickies!" She was so excited, practically jumping. (OK, she doesn't really know how to jump for real yet, but she squats and stands like she's trying to jump...) So now I had a very enthusiastic 19-month-old dead set on getting some French toast. Immediately.
The problem was that, uh, Ray hadn't actually started cooking yet.
After a little tantrum, I scooped her up and decided that she and I were going to actually help Ray cook. Fortunately, Lola loves to help. With her in my arms, she took out the syrup and put it in the microwave. She brought Ray the milk, vanilla, cinnamon, etc., gingerly placing it on the counter top. Lola knows that objects like spice jars are not supposed to fall over; she gets sad when something doesn't stay upright. So, when she handles small things, like a jar of vanilla extract, she very carefully sets it down.
The best part of the whole experience was that Lola had a blast. She loves to help. And was smiling and giggling the whole time. I knew she was happy when, with her resting on my left hip, she took her right hand, placed it on the back of shoulder and patted me for a few moments. I glanced at her and she grinned at me, as if to say, "Good job, Mommy. I'm happy."
We finished with the ingredients and decided to set the table. She put down the butter and the syrup and I handed her one of our plastic plates.
We walked over to the table and before I was able to lean over so she could carefully set it down, she throws it from about 2 feet away. And it lands on the table with a very loud, reverberating thunk.
I thought it was a fluke, so I gave her a second plate, which she tossed from even further away.
And from behind us, Ray says, "Good thing you didn't use the nice plates."
- Bethany :)