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.
2 comments:
Oh, how proud you must be of his winning the "Making Lunch" blue ribbon award. If he can manage to put his clothes INTO a laundry basket, your buttons will positively pop off in pride...
Sioux,
Then count me buttonless. Because he always puts his clothes in, no matter if he's only worn them five seconds to see how they look. AND he leaves them exactly as they come off his body. Wrong side out, sleeves and pantlegs in various stages of devouring themselves, socks rolled up in a wad to marinate until their date with bleach.
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