My brother had a little stool like this one, complete with the adorable little rhyme. When Emma Clare was little, I didn’t have a stool in the kitchen for her, so she frequently turned her toy microwave on its end to stand on. My friend, Natalie, was over one day and noticed it, remarking, “That stool looks just like a little microwave.” Um. Yes, it is a toy microwave. Not the most study of all stools… A week or two later, she showed up at my house with a lovely wooden stool hand made by her father. I was skeptical, but she said that because of the way it was made, it was impossible to tip over. But I give her (and her dad!) credit, with two of the most monkey-like kiddos, in the past probably seven or eight years, it never has turned over!
It is stained the same color as the furniture in our living room and tucks nicely under some nesting tables at the end of the couch, so it’s gone back and forth from the kitchen to the living room for years. But lately, it’s been living permanently in the kitchen.
After hearing one of those “It’s never happened to one of my patients, knock on wood…” horror stories from my plastic surgeon, I’m being super careful about not reaching my elbows above my shoulders. The problem is, reaching doesn’t hurt at all, which makes it hard to remember to be good. Having that little stool to pull around the kitchen with my foot makes it so much easier to have some independence in the kitchen without breaking any rules. I always thought that stool was a thoughtful gift. But now that it gives me some much needed independence, I really love it. Thanks, Natalie!