Cook the Pianist and Leave the Sweet Potatoes Alone

Though we don’t have the major drama we did before, I’m guessing we still provide entertainment for our fellow churchgoers. Recall that I play the piano for the children as they sing in Primary, the children’s meeting. This lasts two hours, with some breaks, but I tend to be sitting at the piano the entire time. I can play, but I’m not the really talented type who can carry on a conversation while I play without missing a note. Someone should tell this to my children. Some Sundays I have a constant stream of children coming up asking profound questions like, “Why were you smiling at her and not at me?”
Then, “What was she saying to you up here?”
And, “Why did her teacher give her a treat when I didn’t get a treat? Her teacher ALWAYS gives treats and mine NEVER does.”
Followed by, “Mom, Look!” with great concern, as Saffron shows me a slight crack in her lip.
And finally, “___” This is Willa, with no words, just trying to climb into my lap while I play.

I admit that I add to the distraction myself, as when I spot Jasper indulging in some nose picking and motion him up to the piano so I can tell him to go get a Kleenex.

Thankfully, they all have great teachers who try to keep them away from me. I know the Powers That Be were trying to help me out by putting me at the piano, so I could be near my kids in our newly changed family. I appreciate their concern, but I really don’t need any more time near my kids in our newly changed family. What I do need is some time with ADULTS, AWAY from said kids of newly changed family. Unfortunately, the babysitting offers have stopped coming. That’s OK, though. My bedroom door still locks. And the TV still works. Not that I ever lock my door, or use the television as a babysitter. Ever.

No. Right now I have instead shut myself delicately in my room without locking the door (I promise), and have given them another babysitter: boiling water and a hot stove in the kitchen. Yes, I told the girls to have at it—Make dinner themselves. I didn’t even add the usual “Don’t burn the house down.” Even as we speak Saffron is boiling sweet potatoes. She is holding the lid on the pot with all her might, and is very upset that every time I walk through I turn down the heat and vent the lid for a second. “No!” she says. What she wants to do is wrap the whole pot in tinfoil so not one breath of steam can escape. I nixed that idea. I assured her the potatoes will boil just fine, but I think she’s underestimating the temperature of that cute little round circle on that smooth surface of the stove top. Ruby, meanwhile, is in her usual competitive form. On the other side of the kitchen, she is busy with flour and yeast trying to make pizza dough. I don’t know if I’VE ever even made my own pizza dough. But she refused all cheats I offered, such as frozen bread dough. Nope. She’s doing it from scratch. Nevermind that she’s only 6. If her sister cooks from scratch (boiled sweet potatoes) so will she. I have a feeling it’s a matter of minutes before my blogging time is over.