The old western dinner bell holds no coal to our oven timer. Our boys are more attuned to the simple beeping sound than most musicians are their instrument. Pavlov would be excited to see reaction of the boys at even a single beep as I get to the oven a second late. "Dinner?" Rion calls down the hall as he drops everything he's doing. Sammy meets him at the kitchen entrance eyeing the stove top looking for pots and pans. Then he scans the countertops looking for any potential ingredients to help clue-in his brothers. Ian takes a more direct approach and guesses two or three of the dishes he thinks he might smell as he makes a more fashionably late entrance. "You just had lunch," I tell them as I continue to work. "No, I didn't," Sammy retorts with his stomach once again winning out over his memory. I remind him what lunch was today and explain to all of them that I'm baking for holiday parties. "We'll eat again soon."
I have great little helpers. Rion from a year and a half old, has let me know that the timer is going off in the kitchen. He does this even if I am standing at the stove, reaching for the timer... and he is on the other side of the house. The others will more quietly find reason to hover around the kitchen after hearing the beeping of the timer. Their movements resemble vultures or a small pack of hungry dogs.
"I just put water on to boil guys," I let them know again.
"No, I just turned on the oven."
I love my boys.
1 week ago