Life with special needs daughters is definitely different than a life without. But once in a while something will take place that defies all low IQ standings and reflects to me just how normal these kids can be. Crushes on boys, the latest radio pop jingle and cell phone savvy are some of these “windows of normalcy”. And then there was that time when Lindsey made scrambled eggs.

Don’t get me wrong. There have been, dare I say, hundreds of times I’ve had my girls assist me in making baked goods or the occasional meal. They can appreciate and enjoy the process. But besides pouring cereal or making toast I’ve yet to witness one of them prepare a meal on the stove involving a hot pan and burner. I’ve still yet to see it but I certainly heard about it and the success of it all.

Two or three days ago, before my girls went to my moms for Easter, I had instructed my daughters the night previous what to have for lunch. The options I believe were sandwiches, cheese & crackers or wieners & beaners. When work was over, my mom had come in to the city and subsequently Lindsey rode with her to the restaurant for supper and Lexis with myself.

At one point in the eleven minute commute I asked what they had for lunch. Lexis confessed she had leftover pizza. My brain said “Oh ya, forgot about that. Sounds about right.” I then asked what her sister had and I’ll never forget what Lexis said. “She made eggs.”

I didn’t pull the car over but I might as well have with the amount of (shell)shock interspersed with elation pumping through my body. My brain tried to make sense of this. “She made what now?!” Maybe it isn’t such a cathartic declaration made by most near adults but she might as well have landed on Neptune. And on purpose.

That little bugger actually pulled it off. They turned out apparently quite well, nobody was hurt in the process, the house didn’t burn to the ground and she even did the dishes. I can die now a fulfilled gentleman. Or at least chalk it up as one heck of a proud parent moment.

What’s next? Baked potatoes with all the fixins on the barbecue? Lobster? Quiche? The sky’s probably not the limit but her bar has been raised exponentially. I’m thinking of the breakfast in bed possibilities on Father’s day upcoming with a glint in my eye and drool pooling simultaneously. I better get cracking on building her recipe resume stat. Not just for the sake of my inflated belly but to build her confidence, of course.

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