Cookin with Cat

A couple of weeks ago I heard one of the most heart wrenching stories. While being watched by his grandparents over the Labor Day weekend a two year old boy fell on the top of a grill. The news that relieved me a little was that the grill lid was closed. However it was cook out, so of course the grill was on. The little boy was treated and released from the hospital, and that was that. My source didn’t really say much else. But goodness those kind of stories always make me so nervous. Mostly, because Cat is such an independent two year old. And I have an over active imagination. While I was listening to this story I could just see a toddler walking around with grill marks like a hamburger. And having burnt myself numerous times over the last few years (ten-ish) I could also imagine the amount of pain that it would be. Needless to say I was tearing up.


Before I heard that story I tried to keep Cat away from the stove and oven while I was cooking. But since I’ve gotten a little more stern about it. She likes to go get her ‘Pincess Sep’ and stand near me while I’m prepping stuff or cooking. She knows when I’m cooking, and when she’s in ‘good girl mode‘, she will just ask, “Watcha doin? Tookin beas’fas?” And I’ll usually say something along the lines of ‘Yeah, I’m cookin.’ And tell her the correct meal. Because to her I’m always cooking “beas‘fas‘”. However when she’s in her ‘evil toddler mode’ she gets her stepstool out of the bathroom and puts it right in between the counter where the food I’m about to cook is and the stove. And she won’t budge, throws a fit and makes me want to pull my hair out and get to the cusp of almost burning the food. But, after hearing the previous story, I no longer just say ‘Fine whatever, I’ll walk around you.” I get the food to a point it can wait (or turn it down) and pick her up, flailing arms and all and deposit her two rooms away in a playpen. Granted when she’s in ‘evil toddle mode’ she throws a heck of a fit. But as long as she’s screaming she’s breathing and she’s okay. So I finish dinner to the healthy noise of a two year old fit with the comfort of knowing she won’t be burnt while trying to ‘hep’ me with dinner.