|These don't taste so good, Mommy.|
I put on Sesame Street so they could learn about octagons this morning while I baked Uncle A some cookies. I hope that one day they can help me in the kitchen baking cookies, but it just doesn't work that way quite yet! Well, I had all the ingredients out on the counter, then took out the electric hand mixer, plugged it in...and stopped. Matthew was hanging on to my legs, sobbing! And not the kind of sob like he just slammed his finger in the drawer (which I suspected at first)- the kind in which he's trembling and frightened. What in the world?
He buried his head in my shoulder as I inadvertently brought him nearer to the dreaded object, attempting to console him by letting him pour the sugar into the bowl. He cried harder and clung to me tighter! What's going on?
Uh, oh...the hand mixer.
He's terrified of it.
So I stopped the baking and took him back to Sesame Street and tried to calm him down. It took several minutes until he was composed enough to look at me with sad, wet eyes, pat the side of his head, (sign language) and beg, "Nigh, nigh?"
He wanted to go to bed! So I took him upstairs, N following because he refused to be left out, and he immediately curled up with his lovie and binky and closed his eyes.
Poor fella! I haven't used the hand mixer with him in the room for a long time: okay, I don't do much baking, and didn't even think of it. Even if I had, I would have assumed that he'd be okay with it because he finally acclimated to the coffee grinder. Remember - I never even turned it on!
So Uncle A, enjoy your cookies, because they were made with much love...and terror.