A short and sweet (100 or fewer words) observation from today's dinner preparation:
I'm cooking dinner with the help of the girls, which means that the process is taking significantly longer than it ought to in a messy, beautiful way.
With intense concentration, Reese stirs the contents of the skillet. "Good job, baby," I announce as I watch her work before turning my attention to my prep on the island.
"Mommy, Reese is not a baby. She's bigger than me, and I'm not a baby," Brooke explains.
Before I can respond, Reese jumps to my defense. "It's okay, Brooke. Mommy can call me a baby because she's bigger than me. She told me once that it's a term of infection."
Consider my children infected.