“I don’t need your help!” I snapped, as I swatted his grubby little fist away from the dough.
The boy wilted at my rebuke. “But Mommy, I love to help you.”
“I know, but your hands are dirty and I can do it myself,” I muttered.
I had five kids under 6 in my care and was trying to whip up scones for lunch before the high-pitched hunger wails set in. My three-year old, seeing the bowl, had scraped a giant chair all the way across the floor and posted himself at my side, ready to be my sous chef. Now he stood there: swatted at, snapped at, and snubbed. He was crestfallen.
“I don’t need you either,” I heard the still, small voice say. “Your hands are often dirty. You mess up and make mistakes. And I could do it myself. But I don’t.”
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