This morning I woke up to Lydia in my bed and Kyra making noises that sounded like breakfast preparations in the kitchen.
Kyra's been making her own breakfast for the better part of this "school year," which usually consists of either dry or milk laden cereal, yogurt or jellied toast and a glass of milk.
After 20 minutes of banging around in the kitchen, I decided to investigate. See if she needed any help. The usual breafast bangs don't tend to last 20 minutes. Ten or 15, sure. But not this long.
I find Kyra standing on the step stool in the corner of a counter that is covered in flour. I'm not kidding you, it was COVERED. IN. FLOUR.
Kyra has a big smile on her face. "Mommy, I'm making you a surprise! We're gonna have these cookies because I have a really good memory and I remember how to do it!"
I couldn't dare squash her excitement so I play along all while panicking My flour! Look at all my flour! [I don't buy the cheap stuff. I buy the organic, unbleached, Holy Grail of flour that you have to sacrifice a small baby lamb every time you pay for it because I want the pesticide free, grown and milled in America flour. And a giant bag of it, please.]
I start quizzing:
How much flour did you use? Three cups!
How did you know it was three cups? It was this much! [just over a cup, but not quite a cup and a quarter] Three times!
What else did you use? Sugar! This much. [3/4 cup]
And why was there milk in the measuring cup when I don't see any in the bowl? Because I was going to make THIS recipe, over here! [flips back through half the book]
You were making french toast? Ya. I read right here, "egg" and "cup milk." [then motions to a soggy piece of bread on the unplugged griddle.]
You didn't eat that bread, did you? Ya! It tastes good! [rips off another piece and eats it while making a small face.]
I tell her what a great job she did and how Mommy was very surprised and proud of her. Now would she please go feed the dogs and Mommy will clean up her mess so we can see her recipe.
While her measurements were no where near what the recipe called for, I racked my brain thinking of ways to make it work for the chocolate chip cookies she was going for. And it wouldn't. Not easily, anyway. So I decided to spin her flour/sugar concoction (which was almost exact for a double batch) into blueberry muffins.
Later on, while the muffins are cooking, she comes back into the kitchen announcing, "Maybe I'll be a cowgirl when I grow up!"
Part of me wanted to tell her it's good to stick to what'cha know.
The other part of me was happy she's stretching her boundaries. Even if it included a quarter of my flour stash.
At least we got twice the blueberry muffins for brunch!
I guess, in the end, even a cowgirl needs to treat herself to french toast and cookies for breakfast. I might as well start showing her how to measure properly and keep pushing her on her reading skills. I'm sure there's probably not that many cookbooks out there with step by step picture directions.