Last night JD asked me how to make scrambled eggs. It was 10:30 at night & I wasn't feeling well. My first thought was negative, but it only took a second for the lightbulb to go on. My grunt-for-an-answer, I don't need your help, almost 17 year old son was asking for my help!
A chance for real interaction with my boy. The angels were singing here in Mimi-ville.
I hopped up & got out the little pan, while I told him to crack the eggs on the counter, not the edge of the cup. Cracking them on the counter creates less chances for bits of shell to get into...
The eggs were cracked on the edge of the mug. My son explained to me that he had taken "lifeskills" and in that required class they told him how to crack eggs. On the rim of the receptacle. In Lifeskills class they learned how to crack eggs to make brownies. They also learned how to make root beer floats. If the class is called Lifeskills wouldn't scrambled eggs actually be a more useful life skill than ice cream floats?
Anywho, guess who had shells inside of his eggs? Of course I had to pick them out becasue my Sunshine will not do any activity that required his fingers to get icky. Ever. In preschool the teacher thought he had been badly injured when she put his little hands in finger paint. I was at the school & they called me into the room because they couldn't figure out why he was howling. He was crying too hard to tell them that he didn't want his hands glopped up with paint.
Once we got the stray shells out, (I did make him try), I put some margarine in the warm pan & told him that we needed to wait for it to bubble. I had to laugh watching this 6 ft. tall, 16 year old holding his mug of eggs, waiting, waiting, waiting for the butter to get hot enough. Patience is not the strong suit of my Sunshine!
I've never worked harder to make something so simple come out perfect. I wanted him to know how much these few moments meant to me. I showed him how to cook the eggs slowly & move them around to get flully curds of egg.
He said "Thank you" and proceeded to put ketchup on my perfect plate of eggs, but it didn't matter. Those eggs were a type of love letter, a thank you for the small moments that I have learned to appreciate above almost all other. The times I miss the most as he grows into his own man and away from being my Sunshine.