In a flight of fancy today, I thought I’d go brush my teeth. At 12:20 p.m. Just in case I ran into other human beings, you know. I like to keep the standards high.
Sean – teen boy #2 – was cooking bacon. He finished cooking said bacon and went to eat it, leaving the pan on the stove (don’t worry, I’ll make sure he gets to it eventually.) I’ve wandered into the bathroom, doing such things as brushing teeth and hair, then return to the kitchen.
To find Maura standing there, eggs and butter on the counter, and her shaking her hands.
Shaking egg whites off her hand.
The good news is, she didn’t try to turn on the gas stove, which means she neither tried to set herself on fire, or gas us all. And she used the bacon pan that was on the stove. And really, she did a pretty decent job of cracking the egg.
She was quite proud of herself. “Look! Egg!”
Yes dear. Egg. Heart attack. The frightening realization that I can probably never sleep again, not after this week (she decided Sunday that she could just make popcorn…in the stovetop popper…on the stove…again, luckily, she didn’t turn on the gas stovetop.)
We’re now cooking a frozen pizza, after scrubbing her hands of egg whites and putting the eggs and butter away. I’m also considering taking all the stove knobs off. The problem is, even if I put them up high, she’ll figure out how to get them and try to put them back on to use.
I’m realizing that in a way, nothing is safe. There’s a degree of constant vigilance we must keep with her, to keep her safe from her own self-assurance that she can do the things her siblings can. I could lock up the whole kitchen…but I can’t. It’s not that realistic. Instead, it’s another lecture of “You have to ask Mommy or Daddy if you want to cook.”
Hopefully she’ll get this sooner than later, and before she sets something on fire.