(Matthew woke this morning at 4:30 and 6:20. Urk.)
After bestowing various degrees of rejection on my proffered breakfast of cheese and granola bar (Rachel insists that granola bar is healthier than many of the other things I've given him), Matthew thought he could convince Daddy to give him ice cream for breakfast. He tried repeating himself, he tried dragging me to the freezer, ... He was very persistent but even Daddy doesn't do ice cream for breakfast. (And I never have, so I'm not sure why he thinks I'm going to start now. Baby hope springs eternal?)
Eventually (around 8:00) he gave up and asked for eggs. Okay, Daddy can help you out there. (He likes them scrambled, which is good, because it's hard to turn fried eggs over without making a mess!) He ate one and then half of another.
You are probably wondering what this has to do with the title of this post. Well, after all this and I got dressed for work I came back out to find that Matthew had helped himself to a pot and a spatula from the dishwasher. (The childproof part of the lock we have on it is broken. Teaching him not to get into it has not been effective so far, so until we get another lock I remove the knives before leaving him near it.) He was stirring his plastic farm animals around in it, saying "hot!" and "eggs!"
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