After an exciting day of toilet cleaning, sink unblocking and fitting in a work powerpoint druing Mol's nap, I was hoping on an easy late afternoon with a sleepy boy, tired after a busy day at preschool. Sadly, I was to be disappointed by the enthusiastic tot that greeted me and refused to watch any of the mildly jarring but immensly educationally enriching (I tell myself) programmes CBeebies had to offer.
Instead, it seemed some chirpy presenter had inspired him to want to cook, so we embarked on baked blackcurrant rice and chocolate dipped biscuits. For the next two and a half long hours the kids poured and stirred and prodded and squished away happily enough as I ran about thinking of tot proof(ish) cullinary activities. Laurie worked away, an enthuisatic chef, like his father, although with a bit less skill and considerably less pride in his tidy house. Mol struggled to make the distinction between real and play dough despite the vibrant colours of the latter, but seemed happy enough at the taste of both.
In hindsight, I am thrilled my son would rather do something creative and practical then slouching infront of the box. I am however, left cursing why anyone would think it a good idea to carpet a kitchen and wishing I had been allowed to have a full nights sleep to recover. Alas, it was not to be.
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