I try to get a stool for her and set her up with pouring items at the sink. Some days it works, mostly it doesn't. She loves the new and exciting. The stool is getting old now. Pick me up mummy, she urges with much desperate pointing and noise making. Then you can move me around all the things.
I've dedicated the bottom drawer to her. Filled it with the strange and wonderful. A medley of unwanted cutlery, small toys and objects from the recycling. I probably should top it up again because as I write about it now I realise it will have gotten old for her. The Tupperware drawer is also hers. She has also taken control of the fridge.
The other week we tried something different. She joined me in the kitchen as I started to pour muffin batter into the muffin pan. I showed her what I was doing, and she helped out by pointing to empty holes, which I filled with batter. I marvelled at her. Marvelled at how that had worked without mess or tears.
She helped pop a raspberry on each one. It was all going so merrily. I thought, aha! Here is our thing. We can do this. I can post pics on social media with the best of the mums. Perhaps use a hash tag like toddlerbakeclub or something cleverer.
As I mused away I realised there was more batter than pan space. I got out another one for us to fill. Perhaps I should have stopped there. Because as I started to fill the new tray, my toddler chef started transferring mix from the first tray to the second with her hands. She patted it down, and scooped it. Then she got an idea. She dropped some on the bench and smeared it. Her happy hands had found their thing! Finger painting. With muffin mixture.
At least there were no problems with her eating this finger paint. It cleaned up easily. And I got my photos. I was strangley comforted too, by the sweet comments applauding mess and imperfection.