My youngest daughter came home Tuesday night all excited about the edible science project due Thursday. I live in the middle of nowhere. I have exactly one day to work, buy the ingredients, help my daughter put this thing together and then watch two basketball games. I could strangle her teacher.
$20 later I have four bags of caramels and two bags of chocolate chips. My daughter, bless her heart, does most of the melting while I work on another project I’ve been trying to finish. I helped with the pouring and the shaping and the cursing. An hour after the basketball games we have edible divergent tectonic plates. The mantel an inch of caramel that rises to a peak along the middle of the baking dish, covered in a layer of chocolate that doesn’t quite meet in the middle (this is good, they aren’t supposed to meet in the middle) and icing arrows showing the direction of movement. She better bloody well get an A. It’s a good thing she doesn’t have any fillings because if she did they’d probably come out when they got around to eating their science projects. Ugh.
(Yes we went to watch her brothers play basketball and then went back to work on the master piece afterward.)
I’m pretty sure I can make anything out of anything, so I should get a pass on regular cooking and house work, right? I should get a pass on organization and scheduling. I should be looked upon with awe and wonder – not criticized for my faults.
I knew you’d agree with me. I am kind of fabulous.
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