The Joy of Not Cooking

My mom made us get a microwave. She offered to buy one, even the very particular now discontinued Sharp Half Pint. I didn't let her take me shopping for the microwave. Mostly because I would always rather spend the day with her and Joaquin at the park. But after her last visit, she commented that Brenda looked really excited at the idea of a microwave. Since Brenda is the best nanny I could ever have hoped for and a gift to my life that I thank at least once a week, I decided we needed a microwave.
One rainy day in January, Daniel, the baby and I drove to Target. We picked out the smallest microwave they had.
Oh so quickly I fell in love with this new fangled gadget. I microwaved sweet potatoes- Joaquin's favorite- in minutes. His oatmeal no longer meant a crusted pan in the sink all day. And on and on. Why didn't anyone tell me, I mean really look me in the eye and tell me that a toddler needs a microwave. A need a microwave more than I need a baby monitor, or a even a crib (he sleeps in a portable pack-n-play).
So while I am waxing poetic about my microwave, Joaquin's scrambled egg is cooking in a minute and a half in a little ramekin. Perhaps serving microwaved eggs to your kid is crossing the line. But the clean-up so easy. The funny part is now when Joaquin is hungry, he stands in front of the microwave and does a pointing-wiggling-and-fussing kind of dance. He thinks that's where food comes from. A magic silver box.