Chocolate chip scones

Thursday 10.46am

So, Saturday morning, Nicola is off out thrifting with Kerrian and I am happily making scones. Youngest child is in his bedroom playing on the playstation (lego starwars), the sun is shining and all is good.

“Whaaaaat !“ comes a cry from the bedroom, I may have spoken to soon.

“You stupid pile of junk !”

Yep – here it comes. Crash! - the controller has been thrown down, Stamp, Stamp Stamp - a small stormtrooper is marching up the hallway, then luckily for me he takes a left turn into Poland, I mean the sittingroom, slam goes the door and on goes the telly.

Peace reigns again. I continue meditatively rubbing the butter into the flour and wonder what John McEnroe is doing now. The volume from the television suddenly increases, I look up. Smallest child is standing on the other side of the counter looking at me severely. He starts to talk, a long rant about the injustices of the playstation world. But you know, although I am looking at him I’m not actually listening, no I am thinking – time for some distraction, a father/son activity as youngest would say.

“ I’m making scones would you like to make some as well ?”

He stops mid sentence, mouth hanging open as his brain slowly comes to a halt and changes gear to think about what I have said. He looks at me, then the mixing bowl, then back at me.

“ What are scones ?“

“Small cakes made from flour, you like them“

“Ok”

“These are going to be date scones”, then thinking quickly in front of his incredulous look,

“But yours can have chocolate chips in them if you like”

I had forgotten that he is allergic to anything remotely healthy.

Youngest is then sent off to wash his hands whilst I separate the mixture into two bowls. Whilst I mix the milk into mine youngest is set to happily bashing a bag full of chocolate drops with a rolling pin. His mixed, mine are in the oven, and he is now beating his dough into submission. Once the dough finally admits defeat, all the pastry cutters come out and a whole menagerie of chocolate chip scones appear. Mine come out of the oven, the smell is gorgeous, and his go in. Youngest now skips happily off to watch the telly with my promise to call him once his are cooked.

Mission accomplished - the stormtrooper is now ready to put flowers in his hair and move to San Francisco, the sun is shining and all is good.

Life is never dull when you have an eight year old.

The Bigger Picture

Thursday 3.32pm

I was stacking a load of firewood recently when I discovered this on the side of one. Like a Chinese watercolour landscape of bone white trees in a marsh, it reminded me of the scenery at Tokaanu wharf when we were on holiday there.

Sometimes it is amazing what you see if you just take the time to stop and look.

Michael Jackson and the Date Scones

Sunday 8.45am

Eleven o’clock in the morning, the breakfast kerfuffle has long faded and the house has settled into quiet again. Not the usual witching hour, but still . . .

A vague shuffling sound enters the kitchen. I am at the sink finishing the washing up, one ear on the radio, my mind absorbed with date scones. With my back to the room I don’t notice anything different at first, but then the shuffling stops. There is someone in the room with me.

Finishing the last plate I squeeze out the dishcloth put it to one side, pull out the plug and turn around. Dark brown eyes gaze vacantly in my direction from within deep blackened hollows in a grayish yellow complexion. A peaked cap and hooded top surround what little I can see of its face, the rest of its gaunt frame is hidden amongst clothes that have obviously been buried for far too long.

“cunihavalift?” it speaks, then stands swaying slightly, its meager intelligence concentrating on staying upright.

Being the earth mother that I am, my first thoughts are of sustenance.

“wouldn’t you like some breakfast first ?” I say.

“no, I am of the undead, we consume only pleasure, and chocolate”

No that can’t be right, I reach over to turn off the radio and try again.

“Pardon?”

“nuh. . . .nohungreeneedaliftt’dre’s-gonbelate”

Looking around at my tidy kitchen, now seems as good a time as ever - I’ll make scones when I return.

“Okay, lets go then”

Turning slowly the apparition shuffles away towards the door and picking up the car keys I follow along.

Life is never dull when you have teenagers.