"Dada!" Although I had barely gotten the door closed behind me, my 21 month old daughter was eagerly beckoning to me. She and my wife were sitting on the bench at the kitchen table. Actually, she was standing on the bench.
My wife looked wryly at me and said "Welcome to cooking with Evy." I was a bit confused, but I approached the table for further instructions.
"Dada, nee" she said emphatically while patting the bench next to her. In case you don't speak Holbrook vernacular, nee clearly means "sit". I did. It was then that I realized what I had walked into.
The child had a frying pan on the kitchen table, and she was making good use of it for "cooking" a scone that she rescued from my wife's purse while snooping. The poor scone had seen better days. It was freshly salted and peppered (did I mention that it was a blueberry scone?), and some water had been splashed on it for good measure.
While I looked on in fascination, she used a spatula to shuffle the goopy mess around the pan. Apparently she had commandeered the scone, then she liberated the frying pan from a cupboard and arranged them on the table. Finally, she was forced to ask her mother for the spatula.
"Dada!" My attention refocused on the poor scone. She was pointing at it. Clearly she intended for me to try her delicious creation. There was no way I was eating even a little bit of soggy, salted, peppery scone.
"Why don't I let you have the first bite?" I asked, while turning the offer back to her. She laughed maniacally at me. Clearly that was out of the question. In fact, I could tell by her laughing that her serious insistence that I try the scone was a rouse. She had already tried it, and she was just trying to find another sucker to suffer through it with her.