"But I wanna help," Danny begs.
"Maybe when you're older," I say.
"But Jazz," Danny cries.
"No!"
"Please?"
"Maybe in two years when you're six."
"Jazz..." I look over at him and I realize my mistake. He's making the puppy dog face.
"Alright. Fine."
"Yay! What do you want me to do?"
"You can," I look around to look for something that he can do that he won't hurt himself doing. "You can stir," I say, handing him a wooden spoon.
"Yay!" I watch him carefully stir the sauce around. I put the pasta in another pot as it starts to boil. Thirty minutes later, I pick up the pot with the pasta in it after putting own mitts on. I walk over to the sink, but none of the pasta goes into the strainer. Danny yelps right as I'm about to poor it, so it ends up on the floor.
"Sorry," he mutters. I look over and see that the sauce is in the floor, too. Mom and dad run upstairs and mom picks Danny up.
"Well, I guess we're not having spaghetti tonight," mom mutters. She puts Danny down and goes to get a mop. "We're going out to eat," mom announces after the mess is cleaned up.
I can't believe I wrote that down in my diary. Time to show it to Danny. Maybe he'll remember this. I sure do. We still have a little bit of spaghetti sauce in spots that mom couldn't reach ten years ago. I smile and go to find Danny.
A/n I do not own Danny Phantom. This a challenge by bibbledoo.