On the weekend, we had some guests over for a backyard wiener roast. The weather was cooperative for the most part, the clouds started moving in just as we were ready to cook, so we were indoors before the rain fell. It was a busy day, but a relaxing day. I tackled laundry and made my potato salad to go with dinner.
I didn't overcook my potatoes this time. I had plenty of time and this salad turned out quite well. Through the preparation process, Angel Baby was very curious. She has the uncanny ability to find and grab just about anything that I don't want her to have, when my hands are the most full and I can't get it away from her. It's like the same magnetism that draws the truck to the Tim Hortons Drive Thru. She can sniff out an untended knife, or cup of coffee, or a market left low... from the opposite end of the house.
She stole the lid for the pickle jar. While I was finding that, she put the Mayo in the livingroom. When I was getting that back, she was using a butter knife to eat pieces of the potato out of the bowl. Just one thing after another.
Then she went for the eggs.
I finally decided that this was the activity least likely to destroy my kitchen or hurt my baby, as these were hard boiled already, so I showed her how to crack them and peel them.
She was so happy to help! She cracked the eggs and tried to peel the shell away. It was working well until the first bits of shell started sticking to her fingers. She chose not to peel any more but was happy to keep cracking them for me to peel. She enjoyed squishing the yolks up and dumping them in the bowl.
After the eggs were done, she helped scooping all my other ingredients into the bowl after they were cut up. She had a great time, I had fun too, and the salad was great. It took probably twice as long as normal, because she was getting close to my knife while I was chopping so I had to slow down and watch closely, then let her clear the cutting board before continuing.
Later in the evening I had the sudden realization that this may have been a bad idea. It's great to let her help, but my little monkey likes to HELP. Often without me knowing. (Like soaking the couch with windex because she didn't understand that I use that on the coffee table, or washing the floor with her juice and a sock).
I have now officially warned everyone in the house who cooks with eggs that she may want to help. She may not understand that the eggs are not cooked. She just might try to help crack them. I am just waiting for the first smashed egg on the counter.... I know it's coming!
If I'm lucky, it won't be me trying to cook eggs and I will get to just sit back and laugh.