Topher likes to come running into the kitchen while I'm preparing dinner (usually with whichever big kid is supposed to be watching him trailing closely behind) and ask, "Mom, what are you making?"
Last night his question was slightly different, "Mom, are you making bread?"
"No," I glanced at the finished bread on the counter from the day before. "I'm making soup."
"Soup..." he responded, searching for the right word. "Soup... is gross!"
And then he liked it so much that he ditched the spoon and used his bread to get the soup to his mouth faster. A bath soon followed.
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