What can I say about how the day is proceeding, thus far? I want to say there is a huge revelation in our lives that is happening. On some level, I want every single day of our lives to be big, important, crucial. I want every moment we spend together to be something big that is happening. This, of course, is just a desire within a fantasy world. If there's one thing that I know about real life, it's that it's not all crucial, important, and big. No matter how much I want something crucial and emotional to happen every day, it's not going to be that way. Nor should it be. If every day was emotional and crucial, we'd have no time for rest and relaxation.

For now, though, life is going steady. As my frustrated, little Rebecca wipes off most of the egg yolk that got on her, she is continuing her work with getting breakfast made. To her, this day probably is big, even if it isn't for me. Size aside, her day seems to be starting off on something important to her. She has shown, all too often, that she wants to make breakfast for the two of us. She doesn't want my help with anything, in regards to this. She wants to do it on her own. She wants to be able to do something like this, on her own.

I suppose you can call this her being independent. Then again, maybe there is something else she wants with this. Maybe she wants to prove that she can take care of herself, or maybe she just wants to be able to cook food for me, to be doing it. Either way, I'm going to let her do as much as she wishes, unless she gets in trouble. I'm naturally overprotective of people and their safety. If I were to make and enforce rules around here, without regard for her wishes, I'd likely do everything for her. She would do almost nothing, but sit around and spend time with me. She would have no responsibilities or anything. I would do everything for her.

This isn't that situation, though. As much as I wish to do everything for her, and that I really want to devote my efforts to her, I cannot do that. Rebecca is, after all, a human being. She may only be about 1/3 of my height, but that doesn't change the fact that she is just as human as I am. She has her own desires for independence and everything else that I feel. So, I need to respect her and let her do things. I sit by and watch her pick up a spatula and work on the eggs as I think on all of this.

Seeing her trying to use the spatula to scramble eggs is quite a sight. The spatula is half as tall as she is, so it looks more like she's poking a big walking stick into the pan. Her fingers are wrapped, tightly, around the handle of the spatula, and with every motion, I can hear a grunting noise. With every grunt, more of the egg is pushed aside and moved. She forgot to mix up the yolks before making the scrambled eggs, I notice. It's her breakfast, though. I know not to interrupt her and make suggestions. She wants to do this on her own, so I shall let her do that.

Her form is still interesting to watch, though. She is struggling with the spatula. Her face starts to get red with each extra motion she uses. After about a minute, I can see sweat starting to drip down her forehead. I cannot help, but smile to her as I see this. This picture makes me happy. It's not just the fact that she's doing this, on her own, but more. The fact that she is putting so much effort into this is the best part, to me. The look on her face, the shaking of her arms and legs, all point towards the conclusion that it's wearing her out. Yet, she doesn't ask for help.

After a few more minutes, probably much more scrambling than anyone would ever do with scrambled eggs, she turns and tosses the spatula across the room. The way she turns and moves her body makes her look like someone tossing a spear forward. The spatula shoots across the room, but halfway to the sink, it loses it's momentum. As it does so, it falls to the floor. I walk over and pick it up, putting it in the sink, as she says “Oh...c-come...come on!”

The pauses in her voice are showing me that she has truly spent all the energy she has on this meal. I retrieve a plate and another spatula, beginning to take the scrambled eggs from the pan and put them onto the plate. They don't look like they should, of course. Some of the eggs are still white, and there are huge bubbles from where the yolk wasn't mixed well with the whites. As many faults as I see here, though, I don't really want to say it to Rebecca. So, instead of saying how bad it looks, I say “Good job. It looks delicious.” It might be a lie, but lies are useful, in certain situations. The eggs will likely taste good, no matter how they look, and she might need this little boost of confidence.

She doesn't say anything in response to my praise, though. As I look over to her, after setting the plate and pan down, she is rubbing across her arms. “Ew...still sticky” she says. I know the feelings. Even though she wiped that egg yolk off herself, there is likely residue still there, making her arms feel tight and sticky. I feel the same thing whenever I get something sticky on myself and don't wash it off right away. Taking the focus to her, I smile towards her and ask her where all she feels sticky.

“Everywhere, really...my arms, stomach, chest...all over. Not that it should concern you or anything! I just need to wash up really fast and I'll be good as new, just like you said.” Her tone was a little more positive now. This is, likely, because of the praise I just gave her. She might have a little confidence boost and trust with me, now that she has succeeded in what she wanted to do, and I let her do pretty much all of it, herself.

I offer her my hand and suggest the next course of action. “Fair enough. Come on. Take my hand and we'll go back up to the bathroom. You can soak away all of that stickiness in a nice, warm bath. I'll even stay in there with you, to help you. Well, um...” My face starts to blush as I begin to talk about staying in the bathroom with her. “..if that's okay with you, Rebecca. I wanna make sure you get washed properly, especially with how much egg yolk you got on you. You could slip, trying to get into the tub and all...you know. I should make sure you're safe!”

The blushing is returned in an instant. Obviously, we were both thinking of the same thing. Rebecca, in the bath tub, with no clothes on. And me in the room, at the same time. I'm not sure if she's ready to do something like that, but I wanted to suggest it, anyways. Can't hurt, right?