Until Brandon gets home each day, we must be creative in our entertainment pursuits. Like pioneers. Like pioneers who didn't feel like hitching up the wagon and fording the river to get to Target.
We do many strange things to keep ourselves (HARPER.) entertained. Yesterday, I got a look from a neighbor because Harper was the plane and Henry & I were the engine. An engine which operates loudly and in a single-file line around the front yard. In circles. The plane and/or engine may be required to flap their arms. And when Harper called for the rocket booster (requiring an enthusiastic whoosh from the engine) just as the neighbor was walking by, what was I going to do? NOT engage the rocket booster? no. Anyway.
Conventional entertainment-wise, she helps me cook every night. Which is awesome because it means I actually cook every night. Sometimes awesome for Brandon.
As the sun sets on any given afternoon, you'll find Harper perched on the counter top gathering supplies and readying herself for her main tasks, which are pouring and mixing. Which looks like me struggling to keep or get any at all of what Harper is pouring or mixing into a bowl.
Yesterday was no different.
I particularly like making chicken pot pie because Harper hates it (which means she won't lick the spoon..) and it also means she takes her tasks so seriously but hates the smells so badly that she'll literally shudder her way through it.
Me: ((opening can)) "OK, pour in the Cream of Potato."
Harper: (peers inside can) "OK!" ((shudder))
Harper: Sticks in spoon ((shudder)) to loosen it up while I hold it.
Me: ((puts chicken in the bowl))
So.. you see, she's all business and I see only a glimpse of her silly toddler self when she pours in the frozen peas and carrots (have I not yet paused to laud the fresh & wholesome nature of said pie?) and after
Yesterday was special.
She must have been feeling a little frisky and confident in her preparation. Anticipating each ingredient, she called for each before she needed them and in no time, we were ready to pour her concoction into the pie pans. A little bit Julia Child.. A little bit Fancy Nancy.
As I walked over to Harper, who was still dutifully stirring the pie innards, I watched powerlessly - with hands full of waiting pie pans - as she, as quick as lightning, added her pièce de résistance. With brow-furrowing concentration, Harper spat in the chicken pot pie.