isyne4u
<font color=blue>Next time I get a craving for cak
- Joined
- Oct 22, 2002
- Messages
- 4,721
Before I start, let me first say that I accept resonsibility for the following disaster. Never leave a 3 year old and paint in the same room alone for even a moment. Now to our story.
It began innocently enough yesterday evening. I had decided to pretend that instead of a single working mom who thinks cooking should be left to the people at the restaurants, I would cook a dinner for my ds. Dinner went surprisingly well, he ate, I ate, and no one died. So to top it off I got a craving for a yellow cake. Frsutrated by the fact that Duncan Hines was not sitting in my cupboard awaiting me, my mother pointed out that in her day people used things called cookbooks to do such tasks. AHA!!! What a concept. So with wild hair firmly implanted out comes the cook book and I begin my task of actually making a cake. Mom watches ds and plays with him while I work. (So far so good) I get the cake in the oven and ds says he wants to paint. "Sure!" I say. SAHM do these things on a regular basis cook, clean and do great art projects with their children and still survive. So paper is readied, supplies are readied and ds is stripped to his buzz lightyear drawers. DS decides he wants to paint with his hands and make hand prints, no problem I say. Soon, I'm taking the cake out of the oven as he is clamoring for his piece of cake. I tell him patiently (for th 100th time) that it has to cool and mommy has to make frosting. No canned frosting on the shelf either. Geez, I must go shopping soon.
Here is where the fun begins. (note: We live in a split level house where the kitchen and dinning room are on the middle level, stairs lead up to the bedrooms from the middle, and stairs lead down to the den and office.) So I stepped into the kitchen to mix my butter cream frosting, leaving the 3 year old to paint with his hands in the dinning room. Every so often i would poke my head in and check 9now I'm ten steps from him). Then I got focused on getting the consistency correct on this darnn stuff and didn't check on him again. Suddenly I hear him upstairs. So I call out "honey where are you?" No answer. I left the mixer still beating the daylights out of my frosting. "Jarrod where are you? Are you on the potty?" My mom hollers from down stairs that if he is, he is using it in my bedroom. that is when I spot the big paint smear on the floor on top of the landing. I rush to the top to find him doing an army low crawl across teh tan carpet in my bedroom with a lovely mix of blue, red, green, orange, and purple paint mixed on his arms. No more Mr. Nice Mom! I grabbed him up, yelling about the fact that there is paint all over my bedroom and the hallway and then I stuck him in the tub. No water yet. I told him to just sit there. I turned around to leave the bathroom and notice the paint smeared all over the walls of around the sink. Apparently he had tried to clean it up but had only succeeded in spreading it all over the bathroom. I went down stairs to stop my mixer and to tell my mother what he looked like. I had to walk out of the bathrrom b/c I didn't know if I wanted to scream or laugh.
Suffice to say, all was eventually cleaned up, he was sufficiently punished (he got a shower instead of a bath and he absolutely hates showers, and was threatend to be put to bed with no cake...I relented and let him have some, since I had slaved over a hot stove and mxer)
The moral of the story: To those SAHM who CAN bake and paint and not allow their kids to become human canvansas I bow my head in utter respect. And you may be asking what Lesson I learned: I learned that the next time I have a craving for cake, I'm going to run to food lion and buy one already cooked and frosted!!
thanks for sharing!
tara
It began innocently enough yesterday evening. I had decided to pretend that instead of a single working mom who thinks cooking should be left to the people at the restaurants, I would cook a dinner for my ds. Dinner went surprisingly well, he ate, I ate, and no one died. So to top it off I got a craving for a yellow cake. Frsutrated by the fact that Duncan Hines was not sitting in my cupboard awaiting me, my mother pointed out that in her day people used things called cookbooks to do such tasks. AHA!!! What a concept. So with wild hair firmly implanted out comes the cook book and I begin my task of actually making a cake. Mom watches ds and plays with him while I work. (So far so good) I get the cake in the oven and ds says he wants to paint. "Sure!" I say. SAHM do these things on a regular basis cook, clean and do great art projects with their children and still survive. So paper is readied, supplies are readied and ds is stripped to his buzz lightyear drawers. DS decides he wants to paint with his hands and make hand prints, no problem I say. Soon, I'm taking the cake out of the oven as he is clamoring for his piece of cake. I tell him patiently (for th 100th time) that it has to cool and mommy has to make frosting. No canned frosting on the shelf either. Geez, I must go shopping soon.
Here is where the fun begins. (note: We live in a split level house where the kitchen and dinning room are on the middle level, stairs lead up to the bedrooms from the middle, and stairs lead down to the den and office.) So I stepped into the kitchen to mix my butter cream frosting, leaving the 3 year old to paint with his hands in the dinning room. Every so often i would poke my head in and check 9now I'm ten steps from him). Then I got focused on getting the consistency correct on this darnn stuff and didn't check on him again. Suddenly I hear him upstairs. So I call out "honey where are you?" No answer. I left the mixer still beating the daylights out of my frosting. "Jarrod where are you? Are you on the potty?" My mom hollers from down stairs that if he is, he is using it in my bedroom. that is when I spot the big paint smear on the floor on top of the landing. I rush to the top to find him doing an army low crawl across teh tan carpet in my bedroom with a lovely mix of blue, red, green, orange, and purple paint mixed on his arms. No more Mr. Nice Mom! I grabbed him up, yelling about the fact that there is paint all over my bedroom and the hallway and then I stuck him in the tub. No water yet. I told him to just sit there. I turned around to leave the bathroom and notice the paint smeared all over the walls of around the sink. Apparently he had tried to clean it up but had only succeeded in spreading it all over the bathroom. I went down stairs to stop my mixer and to tell my mother what he looked like. I had to walk out of the bathrrom b/c I didn't know if I wanted to scream or laugh.
Suffice to say, all was eventually cleaned up, he was sufficiently punished (he got a shower instead of a bath and he absolutely hates showers, and was threatend to be put to bed with no cake...I relented and let him have some, since I had slaved over a hot stove and mxer)
The moral of the story: To those SAHM who CAN bake and paint and not allow their kids to become human canvansas I bow my head in utter respect. And you may be asking what Lesson I learned: I learned that the next time I have a craving for cake, I'm going to run to food lion and buy one already cooked and frosted!!
thanks for sharing!
tara
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