I came downstairs this morning to hear the sound of cereal crunching away, and scurrying feet. The cereal sounds were coming from the girl, the feet were the boy’s.
Rather than wake me or wait for me to come down, as we’ve done for years, the boy had gotten breakfast for himself, including milk for his cereal. He’d also served his sister, who takes no milk. The boy was scurrying because he was already finished and was clearing his plate. The girl was just finishing up her first bowl.
This isn’t every morning yet, and he’s not flipping pancakes, but felt like a minor shift in my world. Breakfast isn’t mine alone anymore.
Of course, after breakfast, I still had to adjudicate a discussion about who got to use which marker on their drawing. So I’m not out of the woods on the father front just yet. I suppose there might be one or two other areas where I can contribute, too.