French Fried Potatoes

We had a pool date with some friends this morning, stretching into mid-afternoon.   We've been working on having the chidlren understand we each need our own time so when we were on the ride back to the house I explained that their father and I, as well as the two of them, were going to have our own time when we got home.

I explained to my son that this meant he could have some screen time, but to not expect it to be, "all day".   I told my daughter she could listen to her audio book—I've gotten her into the Ramona Quimby series and she was interested in what was happening next.

I, for one, was taking a bath and getting all the sweat and products off my body from being outside at the pool.  I felt gunky.   Then I was going to finish the Royal Institution lecture on the history of our use of fuels, starting with the candle.

I fell asleep when the video got to the Q&A section and woke up to hear my children and husband finishing dinner.   I came into the kitchen and was offered some french fries my daughter had made.   They were well done, as my husband never cuts corners and had fried them to perfection.   Then, I heard the back story of how they came to be with my husband elaborating more when my daughter wasn't around.

He told me (in his proud father voice that my daughter could hear) that he'd come upstairs to find this on the counter:



My daughter told him she had wanted french fries for dinner so she'd gotten them ready.   She told him she didn't know how to used the stove so she didn't keep going beyond the preparation stage.   He had told her she needed to be older and to have a lesson before she was able to use the stove alone and that she'd made a wise choice.

What you don't see in this picture is what happened for her to get to those nicely cut potato wedges.   She had gotten some potatoes out of the refrigerator, pulled out the peeler, peeled the potatoes and put away all the peels in the compost container.  then she'd gotten a knife (an adult knife she's been taught how to use) and cut everything up.

Then she waited for her father to be ready to make dinner and showed him her work.   She asks for help constantly, sometimes making you think she's not capable.   She is very capable, she's just social and frustrated, and lonely sometimes.   She's going to be just fine.   Sometimes I need a reminder like these poratoes to remember it.

The Big Boy Update:  My son was a terror today when we got to the pool.   He was on the verge of being mean to the very nice friends we'd come with.   He didn't want anything for lunch other than ice cream.   My husband and I looked at each other and I made the call.   "Okay, you can have ice cream, but you have to promise to be nice—to everyone—and then eat normal lunch afterwards," I told him.   I made him eat off to the side, where no one in our group could see him, lest we have a child revolt on our hands with everyone wanting ice cream for lunch.   He was low on calories apparently because it worked.

The Tiny Girl Chronicles:  My daughter's pressure was going up.   We thought it was bad.   Her doctor wasn't overly concerned and said sometimes it goes like this with the implant.   For now we're adding one drop in her left eye per day to reduce fluids.   That one drop has put her pressure back in perfect range at nine almost consistently.   Big sigh there.