I woke up this morning with all intents and purposes to commence making elaborate cinnamon rolls for the family in order to herald in 2017. Instead I managed to sleep through not one but two alarms and, due to my lateness, commenced making cinnamon rolls with a 4-year-old running on stream of conscious next to me as I tried to figure out whether or not my dough was elastic or not.
“Mummy,” he asks in his adorable British-kid voice, “What would happen if there is a fire?” (He is currently convinced that at any given moment the house will burst into flames.)
“We’d get the pets and get out of the house. Kneading should take 5 minutes, approximately.” I go to set the timer and then get in trouble with said 4-year-old because he wanted to set the timer first. Reset timer so kiddo can set timer.
“Mummy,” he looks up with angelic eyes, “I don’t like oranges. They are yucky.”
“You drank the juice of an orange this morning,” commence kneading dough.
“I want to help you!”
Stop kneading dough and get kitchen steps out. Timer goes off. Have kiddo reset timer. Kiddo pats dough two times and looks up at me, “Where are we going today?”
“Nowhere, everything is closed.”
“Are the Pokémon sleeping?”
Take dough, start kneading dough. Get in argument about how I’m kneading all the dough and we need to share because sharing is a rainbow choice. Timer goes off. Have kiddo reset timer. Give kid small piece of dough to pat lightly while kneading larger piece of dough. Timer goes off. Put dough with small, lightly padded piece of dough in well-oiled bowl. Cover with plastic wrap. Cover with towel. Tell kiddo to set timer for one hour.
Painfully count to sixty with small child.
Make toast for child to carry into living room where he proceeds not to touch it. Go back into kitchen to make topping and filling for cinnamon rolls.
From living room, “Where’s my water?”
Stop work. Come out to living room to point to his Spiderman water bottle sitting right next to him. Return to kitchen to make topping only to realise after spreading the topping out I used the wrong level of brown sugar. Shrug it off after realising there’s nothing wrong with too much sugar.
Make tea and cereal for me.
“I want cereal.”
“We can share. It’s a rainbow choice.”
Share cereal with child which involves him eating all the cereal and me eating his stale toast. Timer goes off. Through some miracle the small one declares, “I have to poo!” (Saying the word ‘poo’ is his second favourite thing to do besides calculating the moment when the house will be engulfed in an inferno.) Child trots upstairs. I’m allowed to finish the cinnamon rolls in peace.
Prep cinnamon rolls for second rise.
Sit down and realise I should document this as kiddo may one day have a kiddo. He may one day call in anguish about how he’s always arguing with his smaller self about everything. Then I will point him to this blog and tell him history is repeating itself.
Happy New Year.
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