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Er, how creative are your children?
Jul. 19th, 2007 03:19 pm School's not even out for us yet, and we're already experiencing that creativity that usually only comes with too much time on one's hands.
Two weeks ago I had a meeting for everybody supervising the camping trip I'm going on (the one with 30 teen girls). I get home and find that my second son has cut off the diamondy clasps to his little sister's old church shoes. He got permission from Dad because they were too small to wear and too thrashed to give away. Okay. Fine. They were cool-looking, I'll agree.
Then I found the other four pairs he'd demolished as well. On Sunday Littlest Daughter had to go to church a la Ron Weasley's dress robes, the straps of her denuded shoes frayed and short. And the stores must be between seasonal shipments, because we only found one style of replacement shoes this week, and Littlest Daughter says they hurt her feet.
Last week I went to a practice for an occasional choir I sing in. I came home to a smoky living room and the smell of things that have been deep-fried, and are smoking. I found a massive bowl filled with chocolate...sludge, for want of a better word. DH discovered second son in the kitchen, making "chocolate Broetchen (rolls)." Yeast, cocoa, milk, tons of sugar, something like a half carton of eggs, and a tiny donation of flour. They tried spritzing them into oil. They looked like fried snakes, and tasted...well, I've never tasted snake, but it just might taste closer to this than chicken. Eventually, they baked it into a brick and we threw it out (it was easier to dispose of that way, see.)
Today I get Smallest Child down for a nap (a rarity these days) and then Second Son says, "Mom, I want to make pudding." He's got two mixes, for chocolate and vanilla, and wants to mix them. I figure that's okay, so we go into the kitchen. Meanwhile, he's added an indescriminate amount of milk and sugar, both mixes, and turned it over to me. I turned on the burner but it takes a long time to heat up. I thought I'd finish the almost-finished chapter I was working on in the brief moment of silence. Second Son was, of course, watching TV.
Then First Son says, "Mom, what's that awful smell?"
Now Second Son says he wants to make biscuits. The kitchen is quiet. Too quiet. I'd better go see what's exploding now.
Two weeks ago I had a meeting for everybody supervising the camping trip I'm going on (the one with 30 teen girls). I get home and find that my second son has cut off the diamondy clasps to his little sister's old church shoes. He got permission from Dad because they were too small to wear and too thrashed to give away. Okay. Fine. They were cool-looking, I'll agree.
Then I found the other four pairs he'd demolished as well. On Sunday Littlest Daughter had to go to church a la Ron Weasley's dress robes, the straps of her denuded shoes frayed and short. And the stores must be between seasonal shipments, because we only found one style of replacement shoes this week, and Littlest Daughter says they hurt her feet.
Last week I went to a practice for an occasional choir I sing in. I came home to a smoky living room and the smell of things that have been deep-fried, and are smoking. I found a massive bowl filled with chocolate...sludge, for want of a better word. DH discovered second son in the kitchen, making "chocolate Broetchen (rolls)." Yeast, cocoa, milk, tons of sugar, something like a half carton of eggs, and a tiny donation of flour. They tried spritzing them into oil. They looked like fried snakes, and tasted...well, I've never tasted snake, but it just might taste closer to this than chicken. Eventually, they baked it into a brick and we threw it out (it was easier to dispose of that way, see.)
Today I get Smallest Child down for a nap (a rarity these days) and then Second Son says, "Mom, I want to make pudding." He's got two mixes, for chocolate and vanilla, and wants to mix them. I figure that's okay, so we go into the kitchen. Meanwhile, he's added an indescriminate amount of milk and sugar, both mixes, and turned it over to me. I turned on the burner but it takes a long time to heat up. I thought I'd finish the almost-finished chapter I was working on in the brief moment of silence. Second Son was, of course, watching TV.
Then First Son says, "Mom, what's that awful smell?"
Now Second Son says he wants to make biscuits. The kitchen is quiet. Too quiet. I'd better go see what's exploding now.
