Monday was Presidents Day and today both T-Bot and Baby Sister made 3 cornered hats at school. As we drove home from picking up the T-Bot he said:

“Mommy, today we made hats for - What’s his name? What’s he called?”

“Um,” I said, “George Washington?”

“No!”, piped up Baby Sister, “George Bush!”

“Mommy!” protested T-Bot, “listen to my sister, she said George Bush! It’s not George Bush!”

“No,” I started, “I don’t th-”

“Mommy!” came the wail, “She thinks George Bush is a president!”

This afternoon I made Thunder Cake. It was supposed to be a family project and it started well, with children counting down and providing great Boom Kabooms! of thunder (it was raining outside but alas, no real thunder and lightning...). But sadly, after a few enthusiastic minutes of yelling and a couple of half hearted twirls of the mixing spoon, my children disappeared into the far corners of the house, leaving me to mix all alone. Which was when it hit home that baking a cake from scratch is a far cry from adding a couple of eggs and a pat of butter to a Betty Crocker packet.

Still, I soldiered valiantly on and at dinner The Daddy declared my cake a great success and then, in true Fifties Man mode, said he expected me to never reconstitute a cake out of a packet again. Which is when I hit him over the head with a frying pan and escaped to Rio with my toy boy.

Oh no, wait... as the Baby Sister would say “That was only my dream”...

Anyway, during the enforced wait between finishing the pasta course (also slaved over by yours truly in a truly masochistic way)and the serving of the cake a sly T-Bot asked:

“Mommy, can Boys and Girls do jobs like Daddys and Mommys do?”

“Yes, why?”

“Well, my job is going to be to go get the Thunder Cake and eat it.”