My first really good idea was to let each of my three older children invite a friend over to our house after school.
Once the six five year-olds were assembled on my couch, I was able to inspect them individually and as a group. My overall assessment of the situation was positive; only half of the group had chest colds and those who were sick were doing a great job of fighting the pull of gravity and the spread of germs by repeatedly snorting their mucosal drippings back up into their brain tissue.
After giving our guests a guided tour of the most important room in our house--the bathroom--I told the group about my second really good idea.
"Who wants to make a Christmas craft?" I asked.
"Can you eat it?" asked a guest.
My eyes scanned the stack of construction paper and mound of glue sticks on the table. Then I looked at my children, who were licking their lips.
"Some people might," I replied.
No one was impressed by the sample paper chain that I had put together the night before.
"I already made one of those at school," whined a guest and my sons in unison.
In an attempt to mix things up a little bit, I suggested that the experienced crafters write messages to their parents on the pieces of paper.
"What nice things does your mom do for you?" I asked the guests.
I was scribbling so fast that I didn't have time to dot my lower-case "i" letters with tiny hearts.
Although my hand hurt from documenting all that praise, I still had enough energy left to transcribe a few nice things about myself.
"What nice things do I do for you?" I asked my three offspring.
It took Cortlen a minute to think but finally he came up with a really thoughtful response.
"I don't know," he said.
Camber tossed her half-made chain on the table.
"This is boring! I don't want to do this anymore!" she chirped and danced away.
To his credit, Kellen was busy rolling his upper eyelid over his eyeball and didn't hear me.
"Are you a good cook?" asked a guest, trying to be helpful. "If you are, you can write that down on a piece of paper."
I wrote "Good Baker" on a strip of green construction paper. Then I remembered the
Once the six five year-olds were assembled on my couch, I was able to inspect them individually and as a group. My overall assessment of the situation was positive; only half of the group had chest colds and those who were sick were doing a great job of fighting the pull of gravity and the spread of germs by repeatedly snorting their mucosal drippings back up into their brain tissue.
After giving our guests a guided tour of the most important room in our house--the bathroom--I told the group about my second really good idea.
"Who wants to make a Christmas craft?" I asked.
"Can you eat it?" asked a guest.
My eyes scanned the stack of construction paper and mound of glue sticks on the table. Then I looked at my children, who were licking their lips.
"Some people might," I replied.
No one was impressed by the sample paper chain that I had put together the night before.
"I already made one of those at school," whined a guest and my sons in unison.
In an attempt to mix things up a little bit, I suggested that the experienced crafters write messages to their parents on the pieces of paper.
"What nice things does your mom do for you?" I asked the guests.
I was scribbling so fast that I didn't have time to dot my lower-case "i" letters with tiny hearts.
Although my hand hurt from documenting all that praise, I still had enough energy left to transcribe a few nice things about myself.
"What nice things do I do for you?" I asked my three offspring.
It took Cortlen a minute to think but finally he came up with a really thoughtful response.
"I don't know," he said.
Camber tossed her half-made chain on the table.
"This is boring! I don't want to do this anymore!" she chirped and danced away.
To his credit, Kellen was busy rolling his upper eyelid over his eyeball and didn't hear me.
"Are you a good cook?" asked a guest, trying to be helpful. "If you are, you can write that down on a piece of paper."
I wrote "Good Baker" on a strip of green construction paper. Then I remembered the
batch of what were supposed to be Hershey Kiss cookies that I made last night.
I did the right thing and crossed it out.
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8 comments
You have been reviewed, try not to cry.
Hey, it's how the cookies taste, not how they look, that counts. They looked edible to me.
Sorry for saying so...but the cookies look like flat breasts! Ha ha ha...I bet they taste great though...which is, after all, what really matters...right?
I'd eat them!
I want to eat them BUT they look like post-nursing boobs made out of poop.
Yeah, I don't think you can claim baking as a talent. I am not one either, but I am an excellent bakery eater. Maybe you could claim that instead?
Call me a rebel - but I refuse to bake at Christmas time....that way, when I do bake, I'm not competing with all the other baked goods floating around the neighborhood...and I am more likely to get a rave review of my skills
bwhahahahahahhaha
so glad I stopped by!
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