They’ve found the secret.  All it takes to be a chef, a real chef, like the kind on Ratatouille?

Is a toothpick stuck in the middle of your dish.

A large bamboo skewer in lieu of the toothpick is also acceptable.

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Inspiration comes from this scene.

Since Mom is sick, you make your own scrambled eggs…

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And lay them on top of a tortilla which you’ve decided is what  the rat was using since you’ve never seen an omelet.

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The experience is not complete until you’ve added bits of  lettuce and raw garlic and red pepper.

Never mind how it tastes, you are creating a masterpiece.

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Your own mother has bankrupt you of the omelet experience and abandoned you to the belief that quesadillas are all that exist.

Poor, deprived children.

Is it any wonder your culinary skills are gleaned from an animated rodent?

The dog really did eat her homework.

Lest this become a blog about the things Tonka has destroyed,

let us mosey on to more rosy territory…

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Like how it can be minus 12 degrees but you can still wear a swimsuit here.

THANK YOU for indoor pools.

  Children under 8 are not allowed in this pool unless accompanied by an adult, so this is Sawyer’s first time here.

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Now that he can go in without my adult supervision, I can sit on the other side of this glass partition in chlorine free air and avoid the communal soup.

My motherly sacrifices only go so far. The balking line starts at floating wads of  hair, and unclaimed Band-Aids.

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The sacrifice list goes something like this–

Charging Grizzly: covered

Mad man with a machete: so in his path

Oncoming vehicle: will jump in front of

Crowded indoor pool :  just give me the Grizzly

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 I try to make up for it by sitting and watching as long as it takes.

I have 7 years to make up for, after all.

(Those people you see in the water?  Soon after we arrived that’s how crowded the WHOLE POOL was, like a marching band at half-time.)

shudder-shudder

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Now THIS I can do.

They’ve just spent the last 2 hours sledding down and climbing up a snow hill.  This is what they look like when they come home.

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I didn’t let them take off their sopping wet things right away, “wait!  Let me get a picture first!”.

It’s the nurturing side of me.

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They are soaking wet, bedraggled, and exhausted.

I think that may be why they are still standing there and not protesting.  They don’t have the energy.

Something in the recesses of my mind echos that hot chocolate and warm cookies are in order.

But I’ve greeted them with a flash photo session instead.

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Have mercy, Momma. My sled, it’s broken. Is there no warmth or comfort to be found in this house?

Not when there’s a blog post to write, boy!

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They’re going to have such fond memories of their childhood.