R. will pull out ALL of my bowls, measuring cups, spoons, and such; place them on the coffee table and "cook" right along with the celebrity chefs.
She told me that she wants her own show when she grows up. Considering that she talks and talks and talks, I think that might be a smart career choice for her.
Last week she, once again, wanted to cook with the "pretty lady" (Sandra Lee). She set up her stuff and I heard the boys say they wanted to help.
Wow! They are going to play NICELY together.
Mr. Schmitty and I left them to their fun and we tip-toed upstairs. You know, to do what any old married couple would do; we watched reruns of Tabatha's Salon Takeover.
Our room started to darken, as day was giving way to the night, and I realized we had left our
Not always a smart move.
Suddenly, as if on cue, I heard the click, click, clicking of the gas stove. Someone was trying to turn it on!
"Oh No! NO!" I yelled.
Mr. Schmitty began to run down the stairs.
"NOOOOOO! Don't come down here!!" Shouted W.
"You can't use the stove with out permission!" I answered back.
"But it's a surprise!" T. and R. said in unison.
"Ugh...never mind. Epic Fail!" W. said, "You can come down, this isn't going to work anyway."
We came down to see that our wannabe chefs had tried to follow one of my recipes. I looked in the pot that W. was holding to see this:
My first thought was that someone had thrown up in one of my good pots. My second was to remember to be nice, that no matter HOW BIG OF A FREAKING MESS THEY MADE, they were children who were trying to do something special for their parents.
"Awwwww, guys, this is so sweet of you. Don't be upset. It took me years to learn to cook!"
T. asked if I knew what they had been trying to make. I had no idea.
I saw flour. I saw eggs, along with pieces of shell. I saw pieces of shredded cheese. And I saw CHUNKS of onion. The rest? Not so sure.
"They are POTATO PANCAKES!!!" Exclaimed W.
Too bad we never got a chance to taste them. Snort.