Working on my Dishpan Hands. They are Little, but they are Strong
As much as I like to watch my Daddy cook and to pretend that I am cooking in my little kitchen, I am not allowed yet to help the way that I want to. I reach out to the stove to stir, and Daddy has let me very, very carefully, but he says the word “hot” and “ouch” and “careful.” He gets scared because I get close to the hot pan, because even though I say “hot” back to him, I don’t know exactly how “hot” things can be yet. I know when food is hot I have to blow on it to get it cool before it joins my belly, but that is not the same kind of hot as a pan or a pot gets apparently.
One thing that I can do, though, that my Granny taught me, is to wash the dishes in our little kitchen. There is a sink full of water and the other side runs water and has the dishes that have our food germs on them. I take all of the things that aren’t sharp or scary and I run them under the water after they have been washed to get the soap right off of them. I do this until the sink is empty, and then I get sad because I want to do it all over again. I don’t understand why we can’t just do everything twice just to make sure that they are clean. Mama tells me that there are lots of things to do to keep the house clean that that they aren’t really fun for big people, but I don’t understand. After all, after Mama folded the clothes this morning, I took some of them and put them on the floor for her to do over. She said, “oh Dorian, please,” and I was glad that she appreciated the work that I was doing. I let her have laundry fun all over again.
All that I know is that all of the “chores” that Mama and Daddy seem to do all of the time really don’t seem bad at all. After all, I am now a dish expert, and those are fun. Mama and Daddy just need to find the joy in every day life like me.