Our little #1 son is growing up. He made his own lunch today. It might have had something to do with the fact that I was not home until after 1:30, and teenage boys tend to feel a mite peckish between the hours of...oh...I don't know...24/7/365.
I was quite proud to find out that he had singlehandedly lined a pizza pan with foil, taken two chicken tenders out of a Devil's Playground bucket, heated them in the oven without burning his arm on the element, removed some de-topped strawberries from a plastic container, and SLICED A BANANA. Never mind that the banana was slated for Farmer H's breakfast. He can make do with a green one. The survival of our first-born is much more important.
Gone are the days when he couldn't wait for me to leave the house so he could try the Cinnamon Challenge. Or put foil in the microwave.
Next weekend, we're going to start cramming for Laundry 101.