We’re stuck without car and it’s starting to rain.
I study the offspring, they’re going insane,
“To the kitchen!” I bellow, “We’re going to bake!”
The Tots both leap up at the prospect of cake.
They race for a chair and they fight for one each,
Then drag it to climb upon so they can reach.
But hold on a moment, I suddenly think,
“Our hands need a wash!”
*chairs get dragged to the sink*
After twelve squirts of soap and a small water fight,
I inspect, and conclude that their hands are alright.
So they clamber back up, wired and ready to pounce
For the spoon as we measure out stuff by the ounce.
In goes some butter, then in goes some more,
I’m aiming for twelve, why not make twenty four?
Like vultures, The Offspring close in on their prey.
The Girl jabs The Boy as he gets in her way.
They grab for a range of utensils and tools,
And poke, prod and bash like a pair of wild fools.
I turn to get sugar and step from the side,
There’s a screech.
I bolt round to check no one has died….
But no. All is fine. Just an issue of spoon.
The Big One had snatched it a fraction too soon.
Thus leaving The Little One sobbing bereft,
The victim of baking utensil grand theft.
I spoon in some sugar, the tots are wide eyed,
And peer over the bowl at the crystals inside.
Ignoring my instincts for managing risk,
I reach for the big one – the electric whisk!
That beacon of baking – The Tots Holy Grail.
But I only have one.
(Hash tag parenting fail!)
They jostle and whinge as they each want a turn,
*A small face palm moment*
When the hell will I learn?
I give in to logic.
The Big One goes first.
Having weighed up my options,
(Her screams are the worst).
The whisk is cranked up.
Butter flicks up the wall.
And onto the ceiling.
And over us all.
The whisk is removed and we each are hosed down.
I’m perfectly calm and refusing to frown.
The whisk’s redeployed with the Tots at arm’s reach.
With a new set of rules, “place one hand on it each“.
So. Butter and sugar successfully creamed,
Thus far only one of my offspring has screamed.
I turn for a second to forage for flour,
Apparently handing The Girl all the power?
A little like lightning, but three times as quick,,
Her hand’s in the bowl and she’s ready to lick.
Out come the fingers at Olympic pace,
And giddy with glee, stuffs them into her face.
I glance as she reaches to score one more goal…
“DO NOT PUT YOUR FINGERS BACK INTO THAT BOWL!“
“These aren’t just for us, we’ll be sharing some too!”
“And no one wants buns with saliva from you!”
So caught in the act, Miss Tot colours in shame,
Disgruntled at Mummy for spoiling her game.
She stops and considers to think up a fix….
And dribbles her mouthful…
back into the mix!!!
Quite proud of herself she is somewhat surprised,
When her selfless solution is duly chastised.
The Boy, who’s been watching this slightly bemused,
Now turns to the eggs to be aptly amused.
Deciding we’d better not share these today,
I scoop half the “dribbled in” mixture away.
We throw in some eggs. (With a soupcon of shell –
Thus adding a portion of roughage as well.)
In goes the flour in one dusty “pooof”
That covers the household from floor unto roof.
The offspring dive in and they frantically stir,
A frenzy of spoons thrash about in a blur.
Two dozen bun cups are squidged into place
And the mixture is spooned vaguely close to each case.
The Tots eye the now empty bowl with a grin,
NOW they can lick – so they swiftly dig in!
I take two steps back and I survey the site.
And gulp back the urge to adopt “Fight or Flight”.
There’s egg on the worktop and all down each chair,
Miss Tot has a dollop of “stuff” in her hair
And I know that I’m blessed to have two helpful tots,
Who would both be so willing to help me wash pots,
But the deluge of suds that would no doubt ensue
Has left me perplexed, not quite sure what to do?
The kitchen needs some sort of military clean.
So I cleverly lure them in front of a screen….
I know they’d enjoy it.
I should let them try,
But to let them do icing I’d have to be high!
The kids are positioned in front of TV
So I tiptoe away just a bit sneakily.
In no time the kitchen is back to the norm.
A blink of an eye and I’ve iced up a storm!
And now that it’s done I can pause to reflect.
To you – Baking Mums – I have utmost respect!
But I’ve found that no things can be mixed in a bowl
Without the whole process destroying my soul.
And so from now on I do solemnly pledge,
That I’m done with the buns thanks.
I’ll just stick to veg!
Just a little note this time, to dedicate this little rhyme, to Alice of Nipper and Tyke, who’s lovely blog I really like. She wrote a post so beautifully, which instantly hit home with me, and I was nodding all way through, as I had just been baking too! So thanks to her with huge #bloglove as she inspired the rhyme above. I’m sending lots of virtual cake, as from now on I DO NOT BAKE! ;0) xx