There are a lot of dangerous things in the kitchen. Emanuel can find them all while my back is turned and be halfway to destruction (of either himself or some random breakable object) by the time I notice. I have started surreptitiously opening "the door" every time I have a kitchen chore that I know he'd love to help with, which would be every time I go into the kitchen. He doesn't know he's being baited, and I can have a little piece of mind to empty the dishwasher (knives), or cook (hot), or any other mundane task that he manages to introduce that dangerous, edgy feeling that I loved so much before I became a mother, into.
