Tonight was pancake supper, and Clay got to help crack the eggs. While fishing the eggshells out of the bowl Mike told him he was quite the chef. Beaming, Clay ran all over the living room, saying "I'm a chef! I'm a chef!"
Fast forward to bedtime, and I'm helping Clay into his pjs. And although I'm trying to hold his underwear so he won't have to do too much of a balancing act, he grabs them out of my hand and says "I do it myself. I'm a CHEF!"
I guess he'll be ready to dress a turkey next...
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