It takes a kitchen

My friend Grace is an amazing cook.

But this is not the best thing that she does.
Her real forte is raising an awesome son, Bonhomme – infusing him with all the creativity, capacity for analysis, thoughtful caring, love and adventurousness that are hallmarks of her delightful self.

 But I digress. Her stories of his conversations with her are one of the best things about her blog, Mothermind. This time, I want to share one.

The girls and I were over at her place. Grace and I were cooking while the chill’uns were running around – fairly literally – in the rest of the house, flying in to help stir, roll or peel when the spirit moved. The girls were being inculcated in the ways of (pretend) guns by Bonhomme: the correct kinds of noises to make, etc. J could not remain the passive receptor of his great knowledge, she had to direct the play.

“Shoot the TV” she demanded of Bonhomme.
He refused. She repeated, and Bonhomme wailed to us moms that J was making him shoot the TV.
I got to tell him that he only had to do what his mommy and daddy, or whomever was looking after him, told him.

He agreed. I asked if J was in charge of him.  
He started to say yes, then, emphatically, “No!”

“So, what do you think now about her telling you to shoot the TV?”

“Right –  I don’t have to!” And with that he trundled off, pleased with this new realization.

 Back in the living room, the following exchange ensued:
Bonhomme: “I’m not going to shoot the TV, J”.
J protested, mildly.
Then Bonhomme finished: “I’m going to shoot you, instead!”

The cooks giggled.

It was a very good day.


One thought on “It takes a kitchen

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