Here it is, the morning of Independence Day, and I’m surveying my once clean kitchen. Peanut butter on the floor, vanilla spilled over the counter top, and powdered sugar, well, everywhere. Just one more chapter in the adventures of nine-year-olds Phoebe and Olivia. They’ve been experimenting in my kitchen for a couple of weeks now, brainstorming some pretty horrible concoctions, but laughing and learning along the way.
Last week, upon my return from Los Angeles, I was not inclined to make an immediate trip to the grocery store. So, in the absence of basic ingredients, my daughter and her friend got especially creative.
I don’t know exactly what they included in their recipe, but I know it was only in the oven for approximately three and a half minutes before the smoke detector sounded. I grabbed a broom and started fanning the unit, while Phoebe and Olivia ran around throwing open windows and doors.
The cookie sheet was bubbling with something that looked a lot like the La Brea tar pits I had just visited in California. At any moment, I expected a fossilized wooly mammoth to surface.
In my mind, as soon as the mess cooled, they would scrape it in the trash and start over. Or maybe move on to another activity that didn’t involve smoke detectors. But, no. Within minutes I was the recipient of a piece of thin, floppy, chocolate rubber topped with a banana slice. Two sets of nine-year-old eyes looked at me with eager anticipation.
“So, what do you think?”