There are three tiny people making cake pops in my kitchen right now.
I don’t even know how this happened. One minute I was discussing the three kids possibly afternoon-ing in the park so I could work on this awesome “child of the ’70s” article for work and answer some pressing emails, and the next minute Emily is discussing the best ways to melt white chocolate and is searching my garage for extra styrofoam.
It’s somewhat of an inmates taking over the asylum type situation.
Today is the first official day of summer vacation, and we haven’t yet found ourselves a summer groove. We haven’t yet found ourselves the time to even think about a summer groove.
We’ll get there, I know. I *am* a good juggler, you know. But it won’t be at 10:38 in the morning on Day #1 of summer. This wouldn’t, of course, have been my first choice in activity, since an activity for me would be something that doesn’t require adult assistance of any kind. These children of mine have a basement full of arts and crafts supplies—googly eyes, construction paper, glitter up the wazoo. They have bikes, and scooters, and ripsticks. They have a trampoline, they have an outside.
They have a television for crying out loud.
“Mama, can you just turn the oven on?”
“Mama! We need to find some wooden sticks!”
“Mama, where are all of our small bowls?”
“Mama! I just need you to reach this one thing for me!”
“Mama, what’s a double boiler?”
I guess there are now four tiny people making cake pops in my kitchen right now.
One slightly bigger than the other three; one slightly more frazzled than the other three; one who doesn’t even like cake pops.
Happy summer to me!