My wife does most of the cooking. (And when I say “most” I really mean “all”.) There are two reason for that:
1. She’s a great cook.
2. I can’t cook. I can only “make food not raw.”
Recently she made crepes, yet kept calling them pancakes when talking to the boy, which is where the above exchange came in.
The floor of the kitchen has become even more important food-wise now that we have a kid. There is an awful lot of spillage, as you can imagine, so, hey, if the boy finds some food while crawling around and eats it, oh well. Let’s just call it “toddler grazing.”
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