When my son was a baby I’d put him in this little seat—I think it’s called a bouncer—and he’d watch me cook. I’d be talking to him the whole time, narrating everything I was doing. Of course certain rituals developed right away. One was for making oatmeal. I’d go through this whole production with him, talking through the steps, matching words with gestures, building to the climax, the moment I turned off the burner, but the oatmeal was still too hot to eat, and I’d say Well, you’ve got to heat it up, then cool it down! I’d keep riffing on this refrain, and he loved it. He’d bounce up and down so much I thought he was going to rocket through the roof.