So, last night, I decided we would have breakfast for dinner. And I bopped around the kitchen gathering ingredients for pancakes.
First, flour. Then sugar, baking soda, and salt.
I was on a roll.
With all the dry ingredients in one bowl, I beat eggs in a different one then turned back to the refrigerator and pulled open the door, only to release a growl of frustration.
“What?” my husband questioned, as the refrigerator door thunked closed and my hands remained empty.
But then from the living room, Elder volunteered, “You need me to get some milk, Mom?”
“Yes, please,” I answered with patience. “Thank you for offering.”
“Well, I did drink the gallon in two days.”
Yes, he had. In two days, an entire gallon of milk.
But, apparently, in one semester, he had gained the maturity to realize he could help me solve a problem he created.
Maybe by summer he’ll actually text me a note when polishing off a gallon of milk.
Milk as evidence of maturity.