Today, the Festival of Puke is over and Boy Child felt like doing things like going to Target to replace the DS he recently broke, going to the Mall to get new games, and going to our favorite bookstore to buy...cookbooks.
Since Boy and Girl Child turned 9, they have been asking when they will be able to learn to cook. I've been telling them for a year now, "You can learn when you get a job you twelve sandwich eatin' slackasses!"
No just lying. I told them they could learn when they were 10.
Okay, but here's the thing y'all.
Most of the "cooking" I do? Is making things out of boxes. It's not REAL cooking. I'm not out milking cows and milling my own wheat or whatever the crap people who do real cooking do. I'm hanging with Betty Crocker.
So we got new cookbooks. And all of us are going to learn together, I guess, how to make things with flour and paprika and...you know, butter. Or something.
But for today? We started with boxed cake mix. You have to start somewhere right? Right.
Apparently this cake stuff is pretty hard. It makes your pits all stinky so you have to air them out.
Ginger, as is typical, viewed the entire event with mild disinterest.
Rainbow chip for Girl Child. Yellow cake for the Boy.