There's this sort of glint in Ben's eyes as you walk downstairs, witnessing the sight of your husband and your 5 year old daughter. He's trying to teach her how to fry an egg, for some God forsaken reason, even if she literally can't even ride a tricycle. Let alone a bicycle.

"Uh, lean back a little, kid," he brushes a hand through his hair, before he adjusts his sweats as the other holds the frying pan.

It would literally be concerning and a safety hazard, if your daughter wasn't in such safe hands. You knew for a fact that Ben wouldn't let a single hair on that girl's head get hurt, or singed, especially when it comes to this whole cooking business. Your little moment of thought is cut short when Ben catches sight of you, and he grins, "Look at her! She's a natural!" he chuckles, watching her hold her little hands on top of her dad's as they uh.. fry an egg.

"Gotta teach 'em early, honey," that's his motto, or something, ever since he had a child. He wanted to be a better father than his dad ever was to him. And he was doing a great job at it so far.

You glanced at the plate of 2 fried eggs on the side, which apparently she'd cooked, and she looks up at you with a toothy grin. "I fried eggs!" The two of them even giggle the same.