Once morning after the pixie had finished her usual scrumpti-umptious smoothie, she came up to me, lovingly grabbed my hand, and told me that I was a good cooker. I, of course, was more than delighted at hearing this, but did note that she chose to say this after an idiot-proof drink, as opposed to a lovingly prepared, well thought out dinner.
She, too, has been training herself to be a good cooker. Later that same morning, she prepared a little picnic for the two of us.
The only problem I had was that she keeps putting peppers on my pizza! Vile, little things. It's usually a good trade off, though, because Daddy hates mushrooms. More for Mommy!
She has become quite brazen in raiding the fridge for what she craves.
She had cereal this particular morn.
Then we all pasta for dinner! Daddy had pepper pasta, I had mushroom pasta, and she had the deluxe bok choy-shrimp-peapod pasta.
She declared herself a gooooooddddd cooker!
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