Burnt Toast

"Mommy," says a little girl in what sounds like a whine, "I made toast for you and me, but it came out black."

Time Out. It was the last loaf of bread in the house, and the last two pieces. It also means some Small Child decided she was big enough to use the toaster by herself this morning, without Mom's help or oversight.  And I didn't ask for toast, that was just something she decided she wanted to do this morning. I go into the kitchen and see honey on the counter and the toaster with it's little knob turned all the way to one side, indicating it would only make burnt toast. Deep breath.

"That's ok, kiddo", I say, "My mom taught me a long time ago how to fix burnt toast."

As I scraped off the black parts into the sink I couldn't help thank my Mom for showing me that not every little thing has to be a big deal. It's just toast, not the end of the world and the love and intentions behind the blackness were pure and good. Sometimes black toast can make you cranky, but it's not the toasters fault. The toaster does what it's told to do and the outcome can't be different than the setting we made. I am thankful for a mom who took the time to teach me to scrape the black off the toast, reset the toaster and move on and that a little apple butter goes a long ways towards making too crunchy toast edible in the mornings too.

I have a great kid with a big heart. Black toast or not, it's going to be a good day.