Skip to main content

High Tea


 I got into a bit of a battle with our eldest today.  He was being a little too big for his britches, and I was trying to show him that he still had some lessons to learn.  The tables turned on me, and I discovered that I'm going to have to work a little harder if I'm going to stay in the game.  Dang these smart kids.    

It started innocently enough, as things typically do.  The boys and I decided to have a tea party and invited my mom and aunt to join us.  "Tea" isn't exactly on their radar for super cool boy things to do, but it was an excuse to practice some cooking skills and some social skills and some manner skills.  I gave them each the responsibility of picking out a snack to make for the party.  Fischer chose fudge.  Spoiler alert: it didn't turn out.  Sawyer chose chocolate bark with crushed candy cane on one batch and coconut flakes on another.  

The morning of the tea party, Sawyer let me know he was going to need my stove for a lot of the day and began listing off ingredients he would like to use.  I quickly stopped him with a, "Whoa, Buddy.  This is going to be a collaboration.  I'm going to give you a lot of freedom, but I'm still going to be in there helping and guiding."  He scoffed at that.  He put his "I know what I'm doing" face on and got a little too full of himself.  Naturally, I felt it was important to humble my all knowing eight-year-old by a degree or two.  

"Buddy," I began, "You're going to have to temper the chocolate.  Do you know how to temper chocolate?"  I paused, ready launch into an explanation that would reveal to him exactly why he still needs his mother when working in the kitchen. It's my space.  

Before I could impress him with my own candy making knowledge, he responded, "Yes, you have to put a little water in a pot and heat it up until it's steaming, and then you put another pot over it with the chocolate in it and stir it until it melts."

My face dropped, my personal pride, dashed.  But my mom pride was overflowing.  I swallowed the gall in my mouth, humbled myself, and told him he was absolutely correct.  

And then I told him, he would still have to let me watch over him because I'm the boss.  (I win.)

He wasn't super excited to share the kitchen with me, but we made it work.  It probably helped that he still got to be chief taste tester.  It was a good lesson for us both.  It's all about balance and dark chocolate.      

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Pink Stinks

Our girls, like most four-year-old girls, love pink.  And purple.  And sparkly things, unicorns, butterflies, lizards and cats.  But especially pink.  Their brothers aren't so fond of pink.  They prefer the color dirt.  I know this because it's what they have chosen for the color of our walls, windows, light switches and their socks.   "Do you like pink?"  Emerson asked Fischer one day not long ago. "No." "Why?" "Because pink stinks !" Cue 'angry tears and screaming.' This of course delighted her brother who began using the line anytime he wanted to see her cry.  Which was often.  It didn't change her passion for the color, however.  She still demanded the pink plate, pink cup, pink shirt, pink shoes, and pink gum if she had the choice.  Because pink is the best when you're four.   Fast forward a couple of weeks.  The girls were collecting pieces of garbage off the van floor.  Why?  I don't know, b...

Triple Threat

 People think we are raising twins, but they're wrong.  We actually have triplets: Emerson, Carter, and Carterror.  It's true.  Carterror doesn't hang around often, but when the days are long and naps have been missed, she comes out swinging.   Today, when we should have been napping, we ran errands.  We needed some grain for our cows, so before picking up the boys from school, we stopped at the feed store.  The girls spent a little time looking at all the fish, birds, and pets they have for sale.  Immediately, after telling them not to touch the tanks, Carter tried to go fishing.  That's when I realized Carterror had arrived.  I called her name to stop her and realized her shirt was exceptionally lumpy.   "What's in there?" I asked, pointing to her newly developed bosom.   "My kitty," she replied, pulling out a stuffed cat from her sweatshirt.  A minute later, we were walking down an isle of bovine parapher...

Fear Factor

 Did you know that it has been not  scientifically proven that a baby can smell her mother's presence through a closed door.  It's probably the smell of fear that they are actually attuned to, but nonetheless.  I hold my breath and walk on tiptoe past the baby's room and still get busted nearly every time.  My fear is pungent. Besides waking the babies, I have another fear currently in the forefront of my mind.  Don't mind me, this is just another episode of True Confessions.. .  Here it is: the boys are getting so much outside time that they are building up incredible endurance.  It's great really, but it is   becoming  so hard to wear them out. It used to be an hour at the playground and we were golden.  Now, they basically put in an eight-hour workday, and it's just a warm-up!  Does anybody have a treadmill....?  Real school is going to be a bit of an adjustment for the big guy next fall.    Speaking of s...