It was my turn to cook. That's one.

It's not like we have regular turns. John does 99% of the cooking and occasionally, especially when I've been pouring through the latest issue of Eating Well, I pick a dish and spend twice as long making it as they think it will take.

I was cooking mango dhal, and Rose decided she wanted to help. That's two.

Sure, I told her to rinse the lentils and pour them into the cooking pot. She rinsed ok, but then poured quite a few on the stove. I forget that even though she's older, more in control, a better listener, and more experienced than David, she really has no idea what she's doing.

John stepped in to help. That's three.

He cleaned the lentils off the stove, and I went back to giving Rose tasks: pour the water in, watch the pot until it boils, stir occasionally, yes, over the hot stove, her first time.

You think David was happily playing with cars in the other room? Yeah right. I want to help! I want to help! and moving the step stool in front of the drawer I needed to get into.

So, David helped me squeeze the garlic press. That's four. Have you seen the size of our kitchen? And David and Rose both count double because neither is very good at the sideways squeeze kitchen dance.

I kept chopping, John ran the stove, Rose panicked when the pot overflowed, and David cried that onions were hurting his eyes after I warned him not to stand too close because the onions could hurt his eyes.

I had planned on some time off, just me, Garrison Keillor, and the mangos, but four cooks are better than crabby, bored, out of control crazies any day.