My sharp, Mommy
I've mentioned before that Claire helps me with dinner. I really do enjoy it although it can sometimes be a nerve-wracking experience. She likes to put vegetables into a bowl as I chop them. And every single time, I have the same horrifying vision. I'll be chopping happily along when I see a little chubby finger reaching for a carrot about a foot away from the knife. And then I see the knife coming down on the little chubby finger. It doesn't seem to matter that her finger is too far away for the knife to actually cut it. If I can see both her finger and the knife, I have the vision and I am left sick to my stomach. I always reiterate, "Sharp! This is sharp! OUCH! The knife is for Mommy! Not for you! Sharp!" Then I take a deep breath, ignore the nausea, and return to chopping.
The other night, Claire found a bag of toy kitchen paraphernalia in the basement. She carried it upstairs where she started cataloging the items. When she came across the toy chef's knife, she studied it carefully for a few minutes. Then she showed it to me and said, "My sharp, Mommy. MINE. NOT FOR YOU!" I don't know whether to be relieved by her innocence or peeved that she thinks I'm selfishly keeping the real knife for myself.
2 comments:
My eldest was always positive that I was keeping dangerous things away from her out of selfish reasons and it was very hard to convince her that I was not.
I once read a story by a Japanese writer (Mukoda Kuniko was her name) about a mother who accidentally cut her little boy's finger off in just the way you describe. After I had kids, I developed the habit of cutting vegetables directly over the pot whenever the kids were in the kitchen.
I'm making note of the name so I never accidentally read that story. I might never recover if I did!
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