Baking with kids...

Is it wrong that my desire for perfect baking sometimes outweighs my desire to not leave permanent emotional scars on my children...?

I love baking with my kids... well, in my ‘Mother-of-the-Year’ fantasy I do.  There, safe in my fantasy world, I’m happily whipping, beating, creaming and folding (I’m wearing a gorgeous frilly pinny, and I’m a real hotty... about a size 8, but still with boobs and hips... you know, only a smidgen from reality...). 

In this dream-land my kids are expert bakers: understanding the necessity of measuring ingredients and not dumping an entire bag of flour into the creamed butter and sugar; never sneezing into the cake mix; they wouldn’t dream of grabbing the butter and biting out a large chunk; it simply would not occur to them to shove a mouthful of the mixed dry ingredients into their mouth - and on finding it ‘not to their liking‘ spitting it back into the mixture (although, who does like to eat flour and baking powder?)  

Nope, my fantasies are NOT reality, not even close. 

In reality, I tend to get a wee bit stressed, I seem to be constantly saying “don’t put the spoon theret!”, “don’t tip the whole bag in!”, “please don’t pick your nose while we’re baking”.  I end up feeling like the kids are trying to sabotage MY baking efforts.  My baking, which must be moist and light, pretty and tasty!  It must not contain boogies, spit particles, egg shells or excessive amounts of baking powder (*note: one cup of baking powder is ALWAYS excessive).  

Perhaps I'm just expecting too much... I think we'll just stick to baking with play doh.

Poos, poos, everywhere...

Ohhhh I’m sooo sick of poos!!!  When will it end?  And now I have to think about whether the horrible word has an apostrophe or not!?!  And right now I’m so over poo that I don’t even care. 

Before I was a mother, I heard horror stories of the odd child (odd as in rare, not like, weird or anything) who had ‘painted’ with their own poo’s (if it belongs to them, it does have an apostrophe... right?).  How repulsive!  My child would NEVER do that!  Clearly it was all in the parenting, and I was going to be a great parent, therefore that problem would not be one that I’d be having.  And I think that was the moment that my fate was sealed.  See, I’ve pretty much figured out that whatever you think will never happen to you... will definitely happen.  Especially if that thing involves you thinking that you’re better than someone else.  If only I could go back in time and tape my foolish, opinionated (young) mouth shut.     

My second-born child has been obsessed with playing with his poo since he was old enough to take off his own nappy.  I have cleaned poo from walls, clothes, toys, carpet, beds, baths and tonight... the shower.  Even Iggle Piggle wasn’t safe.  One Christmas Eve while I was busy baking, Iggle Piggle got dealt to.  Poor fella.  Most toys I throw away when they’ve become poo scoopers or diggers or objects to squish poos with.  But Iggle Piggle was really expensive!  So he got the daylights scrubbed and disinfected out of him.  And then he sat the airing cupboard while he recovered from his ordeal.  And while I got brave enough to handle him again.

I’ve become very good at noticing ‘silence’ these days... and usually I can jump in fast enough to halt the poo artwork before it begins.  And toilet training is going really well, so I pretty much thought we were coming out of the poo phase.  I got smug.  I thought I had it sorted.  So tonight, Mr Three was in the shower when I hear the call I dread “I got poooooooooooooo’s Muuuuuummy!”  And the smell hit me.  Poo and steam.  NOT good.  Not even manageable.  Just bad.  All kinds of bad.  

I am no longer smug.  I will not get smug again.