the naked chef

Spot likes to fold her arms for prayer now. For about three seconds. She’ll do it over and over during a prayer, in between walking around (if we’re kneeling) or eating her food and grunting (if she’s strapped in at the table).

Don’t ask how I know what she’s doing. I have my eyes closed and am in a near-meditative pondering state.

At the end I throw my arms wide and say Amen!, just as I did when the older girls were this age, to teach them the proper reverence protocol. Spot lifts her hands a little, and grunts.

Susan is doing her theological instruction part too. She’s taught Spot to crouch and bounce up during Jesus wants me for a sunBEAM. Sometimes Spot crouches so low she can’t recover, and ends up on her bum instead. I think she’s inherited my body and grace.

Today, as I whipped up a gourmet meal of wieners and eggs (a splash of milk and some fine aged cheddar), we sang Jesus wants me for a sunBEAM. Spot and Susan clung to the oven door handle, perched precariously on the same (DO NOT USE AS A STOOL) Dora stool.

Spot made a good, abbreviated bouncing motion. I bobbed a bit more enthusiastically as I stirred the eggs, and realized that I sag way too much to cook, sing, and bounce naked.

Naked? Well, I got out of the shower and was switching some laundry when Spot woke up acting like she could murder a cow. This is just an expression to emphasize hunger. (like when those Brits say, I could murder a cup of tea).

I had planned to put on some fake tanning lotion, and after that you have to stay naked for a couple minutes so your clothes don’t get tan too. But then I remembered I have to dress-up tonight, and I’ve found (‘beauty’ tip for the day) that thigh-highs don’t stay up so well over lotion.

So I was naked, stirring eggs in a hot skillet, trying to keep two hooligans distracted from the dangerous stove, singing, and bouncing. Maybe I better leave the multi-tasking to the experts.