Yes, it is an egg

I have just got done arguing with a 2 and a half year old. A great big, loud, animated argument about an egg.

Tonight as I made dinner, I drew an audience. Within minutes of pulling a few things from the fridge, chairs were pushed up to the counter, little hands reached for ingredients, and each boy took turns pleading for things he could do to help. Activities in the kitchen have always peaked the boys' interest, and for the most part, I've encouraged this . . . of course, encouraging can definitely slow the process and can on occasion result in more than I bargained for. . .

This evening's menu: Turkey Meatloaf. Nothing fancy, but at least the kids and I would not be snacking our way through dinner, like we've done the last several nights.

First, discussion about onion. Jack was beside himself that an onion HAD to be part of this evening's dinner. After several spins in the food processor . . . the onion, would be undetectable. Next, the painful process of smashing crackers. Each took their turn rolling the crackers (safely in a zip lock) into tiny pieces — that according to Jack could if needed pass as sand. Hope that doesn't happen outside of a recipe, ovey the mess.

By this time, Jack and Nathan's interest began to wane, and they scurried off to other activities, leaving me and Danny to finish the task. I pulled two eggs from the carton and cracked the first into the bowl (already containing lots of other ingredients). Danny took one look and screamed at me. Egggggggg!

Okay, okay I reassured him. You can crack the next one. I just figured he wanted a piece of the action too. I handed the egg to him, and he placed it back in the container and proceeded to scold me, throwing all sort of half words and toddler-speak at me. No eggggggg! He began pointed at the bowl and his fury grew. No egggggg!

For cry'n out loud, eggs go in meatloaf, I explained. No luck.

Then Nathan came to the rescue. He climbed up the chair. Looked in the bowl. Looked at the screaming Danny and said: Yes, it is an egg. No it is not breakfast. It's dinner. Yes, it is an egg in dinner.

Danny stopped crying. Both boys climbed down from their chairs and went off to watch TV.

I cracked the last egg and was thankful. Nate, the toddler interpreter, was on call.