My kids have been entertaining themselves like angels while I pour my attention into getting ready for online courses that start Monday. They know there will be pizza at 6, and until then, they're on their own.
Zack wanders around the kitchen deciding to make himself a snack.
"Anything you want," I tell him, "Just make it yourself."
"Even a chocolate shake?" he asks and I laugh.
"Sure, but we don't have the ingredients. Sorry," I tell him while writing "interesting" feedback for incorrect answers to a multiple choice question about the Federalist Papers.
While I disappear into my virtual classroom, I don't notice him assemble milk (oh yeah! I bought that!), ice cream (oh, in the freezer, who looks there?) ovaltine (we had that? I'm impressed) and chocolate syrup.
I take a break and join him for the scooping and the pouring part.
Yes, he should be independent, but in my reality I end up cleaning up after that "independence" so it's better to gently join in at the beginning before chaos can ensue.
"Do you want me to use the blender or the magic bullet?"
He shrugs while I pull out the small hand blender someone gave me for a holiday (Really. Someone gave *me* a kitchen appliance. For a holiday. I guess they had some eggnog before hitting up Walmart. But that's not the point of this story, so read on.)
"That one?" I hold up the magic bullet.
He nods, and asks, "What's it called again?"
I look down at his first grader toothless freckled face and smile, "Just call it whatever you want...." and go back to scooping the ice cream and miss the look on his face while he thought of what he said next.
Zack then announced -- without much consideration, I might add, as though he had been waiting for just this opportunity to name some thing that might need naming and hooray now it arrived -- "Yay! I'm going to call it PENIS!"