Doing Really Dumb Things a.k.a. Making Enchiladas with Your Kids

Tonight, in a moment of less clarity, I did several unintelligent things.


1. I, a woman with no cooking skills, decided to make dinner.


2. I, in typical me fashion, selected an intricate recipe for what can be a simple dish. (Why do in two steps what you can do in ten?)


3. I, in an attempt to get my 5 year old more adventurous about food, enlisted said 5 year old's help in preparing said intricate recipe.


4. I also enlisted the help of the 5 year old's brother. His little brother. You know, the three year old.


We were making enchiladas.


While I was in the thick of it, I was excited and having a grand ol' time. The fact that we were making a monumental mess in my kitchen was in the back of my mind, but I was too busy preventing my kids from scalding themselves or grabbing a cilantro knife that the mess couldn't consume me. At least not then.


They had a great time smuggling shredded cheese when my back was turned.


They were so excited that I really was convinced they'd at least give the enchiladas a try. I know full well that they don't eat meat that isn't chicken and they don't eat chicken that isn't in nugget form, but they were so earnest and proud about the process that I really thought they'd at the very least give it the old college try.


It wasn't pretty.


There was begging.


Please no food! Please give me a cookie!


There was pleading.


I can't eat the food! My Band-aid will get dirty! (The Band-aid is on his leg. I don't understand this one.)


Despite the fact that it was a labor intensive process, I thoroughly enjoyed my new enchilada recipe.


My kitchen? A mess.


My major mistake--I should have anticipated the screaming, crying and carrying on that would accompany it and make a margarita to cushion the blow.

Live and learn.