How To Boil Water

Katie stood on the imagined threshold between the dining room and the kitchen. The border between the two was only in her head, but it was static and undisputed. It was a good place to play. Aunt Maisey said it felt "zen". Today, Katie wanted to stretch out her arms to the counter and the island and hold herself up by her palms like Spider-Man. She wanted to, but experience told her that Mom would, without a doubt, come bustling into the kitchen at that very moment. Mr. Fuzzles, Katie’s bear, said otherwise. “Go on, it’ll only take a few seconds.”

A few seconds were all she ever got, but for this feat they were probably enough. She gingerly sat Mr. Fuzzles on the ground and held an arm out to the counter. She paused to listen; there were no footsteps anywhere in the house. The other arm inched out and braced itself. There was only the sound of her own breathing. Katie smiled and slowly pulled her feet up behind her. Her two tiny arms shook with effort, but she was successfully suspended.

“I’m doing it!” she whispered to her toy. “One one-thousand, two one-thousand…” Suddenly, she felt her whole body being lifted. She was easily removed from the walkway.

Mom had done it again. With her feet again planted on the white tile floor, Katie picked up the bear and pondered on the power of moms. She always seemed to know when something was going on in the kitchen. If Katie wanted to play “Cave Explorer” under the sink, poof--! It was time to do the dishes. Building a pillow-pile to reach the freezer? Two cushions into construction, and it was time to fix lunch. As for Olympic Counter-Hanging, Katie’s personal record was three seconds. Every single time, Mom knew. No matter how quiet or prepared Katie was, she could never escape Mom’s kitchen radar.

“Is it suppertime, Mama?”

“I'm about to get started. It won’t be ready for a while.” Mom flipped through the leaves of a spiral-bound cookbook. Katie wasn’t sure why she always started at the beginning of the book if she never found what she wanted until the middle.

She briefly conferred with Mr. Fuzzles. “Can we help?”

“I don’t think so, dear, but you can watch if you promise to stay out of the way. I don't want to trip on either of you.”

Katie frowned and set her bear on the edge of the countertop where he would be safe. It didn’t seem fair. Why couldn’t she use the kitchen too? Dad can use the kitchen, or at least he can use the microwave. Even Jason was allowed to make his own sandwiches. Katie couldn’t even get near the refrigerator to get snacks for her tea parties. She was always snatched up before she could get her fingers around the handle.

Mom was in the middle of tying her apron when the doorbell rang. She put the apron down with a sigh, and Katie watched her scurry across the house. The woman who lived next-door was waiting on the porch with a friendly smile on her face. She gave Katie a cheerful wave, which she sheepishly returned. After the women exchanged greetings, Mom joined her on the porch, closing the door behind her.

Katie knew her mother was a talker and it would be at least a few minutes before she came back. Finally, the kitchen was hers! There was no question as to what she should do with this opportunity. Katie was going to start dinner. She grabbed Mr. Fuzzles and swiftly moved him into a lookout-position.

“Let me know the moment she heads for the door, okay?”

The bear saluted obediently. “Okay!”

Katie sprinted to the dining room table and scooted a chair to the kitchen counter. The first step was to find out what Mom was making. She climbed up and peeked in the cookbook. There were a lot of letters and numbers that didn’t make any familiar words. There was, however, a picture of spaghetti, or something that looked a lot like spaghetti. Sometimes they ate noodles that were cousins to spaghetti. They were still delicious.

She sat down in the chair to think for a moment. Because there was no hope of reading the instructions, she had to recall from memory the first step to making spaghetti. The first thing she could remember was to put water in the pot, then put the pot on the stove. It seemed like a reasonable first step. It also sounded like the perfect way to help. She knew how to get water. The only challenge would be getting the water from the sink to the stove.

The pots and pans lived in a low cupboard by the stove. Katie opened it and peered inside. The spaghetti-making pot was all the way at the back. A few quick and noisy maneuvers later, she had a pile of baking tins and frying pans on the floor beside her. On her hands and knees she crept into the cupboard and dragged out the pot. It was half as big as she was. Katie could easily imagine her brother using this as a prop as he threatened to cook her into a stew. She would be careful not to give him any ideas.

She dragged the pot to the sink, followed by the chair, then dragged the pot up the chair until it clattered into the sink. Fortunately, it was a deep sink and the pot sat neatly inside of it. Katie turned on the cold water and watched it fill up, humming along with the echo of the water. When it was nearly full, she turned off the tap and considered her next move. She slid the full pot up the side of the sink and guided its descent to the seat of the chair. A third of the water splashed out on impact, sounding a thud and a splat that could jeopardize the entire mission. Katie looked frantically to her bear.

He spoke in a loud whisper, “We’re still good. Be careful, Katie!”

She gathered all of her determination and set to work dragging the chair, heavy with the pot, across the slick floor to the stove. More than once, her tiny bare feet slid on the giant puddle. The sloshing of the water abover her made Katie nervous and careful. The laughter of the women on the porch ticked like a clock. As the back of the chair bumped against the counter, Katie let out a sigh. Almost there. She climbed up once more.

She wrapped her tiny hands around the handles of the pot and began to pull. The pot raised just an inch before setting down again. It was far too heavy for Katie to lift by herself. It was time for some creative thinking. She darted to the living room and gathered cushions and pillows. They were the thick pillows that, once you tried to nap with one, you understood were just for decoration. Today, they were for cooking. Katie raised the pot again and slid a pillow under it with her foot. She stood back to measure the progress. This was going to work.

Back and forth, Katie hopped over the puddle adding pillows beneath the pot. Moments later, the tower was tall enough that she needed to hold the pot in place to keep gravity from toppling it. From this height, she was able to cautiously drag the pot up the side of the oven onto the stove. Katie put her hands on her hips and smiled triumphantly at her accomplishment.

Just then, Mr. Fuzzles called out to her. “She’s heading for the door!”

Katie gasped and looked around at her mess. There wasn't time to clean, but perhaps, she thought, she could help with one more thing.

The doorknob turned and Mom was saying her goodbyes. In front of the stove, Katie observed the dials Mom used to control the temperature. How come there were so many? Which was the right one? They had labels, of course, but she could only read the ones that said “back”. She took a deep breath and reached for one of the dials.

Mr. Fuzzles gasped and waved his arms. “Katie, move!”

The front door opened and her mother spotted the pot that had magically appeared on the stove. She rushed in, calling Katie’s name. The first thing she did was snatch Katie up and remove her from the kitchen. Then she turned off the oven. As always, Mom took over the kitchen at exactly the right moment. She sighed and shook her head at the mess of cookware, water, and soaked pillows that were now between her and dinner.

Then, she noticed Katie's face peering apologetically around a corner. She softened and picked up Mr. Fuzzles from his lookout.

"I'll get some towels," Mom said, kneeling to return the bear. "Help me clean up, and I'll let you put the cheese on top."

Katie made sure every plate had a mountain of cheese, even her brother's.