Doing, mama?

This morning, my wife was making pancakes and I was washing dishes. Troy had climbed up into his chair and clipped himself in, so I drug his chair into the middle of the kitchen. That way, he could see everything and feel like he was a part of the action.

As he sat there watching us, he kept asking, “Doing, mama?” “I’m flipping the pancakes, baby.”

“Doing, dada?” “I’m washing the dishes, baby.”

“Doing, mama?” “I’m cooking eggs, baby.”

And then satisfied that he wasn't being kept out of anything, he said, "Okay," and he started singing.