Can I help?

I love that phrase. Love. There’s rarely ever a time when it’s unnecessary or unwelcome, and this girl shot two thumbs up and toward herself (weird to take about myself as herself, but let’s just go there, shall we?) when the 6yo inquired.

We made crepes. (Please imagine that word with the snappy little hat over the first “e”, since I can’t for the life of me figure out how to make it happen on this blog. Meh.)

And by “we” I mean “mostly he” made crepes. :) Yeehaw.

Btw, he’s not really 12yo and tall. He’s short and standing on a stool.

I put him right to work, cracking eggs. He’s never really cracked them before.

He was a pro.

From now on and until forever, he’s going to be cracking all of our eggs. He even checked for rogue shells before sliding those babies in the blender.

AND he cleans as he goes. To the lucky young woman who wins him in the future, you’re welcome. And also? I’ll always be watching. (Ok. I sort of just scared myself thinking about ever being a MIL. Ugh.)

Time to blend until smooth…

Yes baby, that blender is alarmingly loud.

Oh he nearly made me pee my pants with that look.

Per the instructions, he let the batter set for 30 minutes,

Then took to slicing strawberries.

From now on until forever, he’ll be slicing all of the strawberries that come into our house.

Little brother took the opportunity to help with just one more ingredient by sneaking into the special pantry stash.

And then I caught him redhanded with hand-in-the-cookie-jar I mean licking-the-nutella-shamelessly.

After making crepes for about 84 1/2 hours, one by tedious one, Holden helped plate them.

And then we had triple double helpings and went to bed fat and happy.

Amen.

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