I’ll be honest – letting the boys help in the kitchen is not efficient at all.

It’s slower. It’s way messier. Someone ALWAYS touches something they shouldn’t. You prep everything JUST in case…. and then they wander off five minutes later.

And somehow – right when you finally start moving at a normal pace – they come back ready to help.

Usually with sticky or dirty hands – and always with big ideas.

There are days I definitely think “why did I say yes to this? I could’ve had dinner done already. I could have avoided the flour on the floor, the eggshell in the bowl, and the million questions mid-measurement.”

But here’s the thing I keep reminding myself:

This isn’t about the meal. It’s about the MOMENT.

When kids help cook, they aren’t just learning how to measure or stir or crack an egg (even if it takes three tries). They’re learning that they belong here. That this space – this kitchen, this routine, this everyday rhythm – is theirs too.

They’re watching how you move. How you handle mistakes. How you laugh when things don’t go exactly right. They’re learning without realizing it.

And yes, they lose interest. They wander away. They come back at the worst possible moment.

But every time they do, they’re choosing connection.

One day they won’t need a step stool to read the counter. They won’t ask if they can help – they’ll already know how. They won’t remember whether dinner was perfect….

But they will remember standing next to you. Being trusted, and included.

Those are the core memories. The ones built in ordinary moments – on random weekdays, with unevenly mixed batter and too many chocolate chips sneaked from the bowl.

So I’m trying to let go of the perfect. To loosen my grip on “doing it faster.” To say yes a little more often, even when it costs me time and sometimes my sanity.

Because one day the kitchen will be clean. The counters will stay spotless. The food will be made without interruption. And I will miss the mess.

I know I’ll miss the tiny hands helping in big ways. I’ll miss the chaos that meant they were here – learning, laughing, and making memories with me.

So if dinner takes longer tonight… if it’s not pretty … If you’re sweeping flour off the floor again….

You’re doing something right! You’re building something that lasts!!