Knife Lessons

Believe it or not, they have cooking classes for four-year-olds.  This is, of course, right up Benny's alley.  We had class Saturday morning, and a very excited Benny and I donned our aprons, and got to work.  Our teacher is not only used to small children in the kitchen, she has several of her own.  She stressed letting the kids to the actually scooping, stirring and cracking of the eggs.  This was a little difficult for me.  I had to sit on my hands to keep from interfering when Benny squished a raw egg through all ten of his little fingers, shell and all.  He dumped cheddar cheese all over the counter and smeared chocolate on every conceivable surface.  I would catch myself trying to fix things for him and have to sit on my hands again.

Benny drew us cooking.  I'm the one with curly hair.  I'm
a bowl, Benny has garlic.

As messy as that child is, he couldn't stand having anything on his hands.  He must have washed his hands 10 times in an hour and a half.  He'd run from his table at full tilt toward the sink, dodging through legs.  Every time I'd admonish, "walk!" Every time he'd forget.  Benny is like a windup toy.  He's only got two speeds, full tilt, and dead stop.

I am always amazed at how my kids listen to others so much better than they listen to me.  Ryan says it's because I make them nervous.  We had knife safety lessons with our instructor.  Benny was repeating the information to me this morning.  "You have to put you hand on the handle, or on the back, not here."  Benny was demonstrating with a butter knife.  "And you never stab someone with it."  Glad we got that down.

Benny's knife skills.