After dinner last night we baked some peanut butter cookies (ooooh, I'm just so darned housewifey) and our Big Guy wanted to get in the action. I turned on the old ornery, poo-brown wall oven and warned the youngster Okay, this is Hot. Remember? Hot.
So I turn around to do something else (meaning I take my eyes off of him for 2 seconds) and lo and behold the little stinker is touching the oven door....which gets damn hot. He pulls his hand back quickly and looks at me like 'bitch, why didn't you warn me?'. Hot! he says.
Uh duh.
him- Cookeee, now?
me- No baby, they're hot. They have to cook.
So now I am standing in the doorway talking to Kevin so as not to leave Carter alone with evil oven. I'm guessing he doesn't see me standing there because he goes over and gets a kitchen chair, pushes it right up under the wall oven and climbs up. Here is the part where I should be yelling Get down! and It's hot! ....well, yes I guess I should but ya know what? I'm tired of him not listening to me so I am trying to let go of some things that won't really hurt him and just let him figure out the world....um, with me watching and standing 5 feet away, of course.
He is standing on the chair in front of the oven and looking in the window, watching the cookies bake. Then he leans forward slightly and Phhhhoooo!, he starts blowing on the oven. This, I assume, is his way of speeding up the process.
Funny guy.
After a minute he looks and sees me smiling at him so he very sweetly smiles back and sits down in the chair to watch the cookies bake.
He got 3 cookies just because I thought he was so damn cute.
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