Brenda’s Unfortunate Record #43


They’re literally bouncing off the walls. A few hours ago I collected them from summer drama class. I was told to pick up 3, the one i usually mind plus two of her friends. As we were walking through the park I pulled out my phone (which I always keep on silent) and saw someone had been calling. Before I could ring back the frantic text message came through, ‘…. do you have the girls?’. Turns out plans had changed and I wasn’t supposed to take them all. Stressed out mum had arrived at school and everyone had gone. 

I apologised profusely whilst daughter got a telling off for not waiting as discussed that morning. She begged to stay. They wanted to do some baking and although mum eventually gave in, she came across pretty high strung. Apparently she hoped to meet me before allowing them round which is fair enough, even if I have been reliably looking after the other kid for a while now.

Once that was settled we got back to the pressing discussion of what to make. One of the girls started describing some Rice Krispie treats, an idea I seized on. Easy as, right? No need to pull out the blender or turn on the cooker. To convince them this was the best plan, I juj’d it up, promising white chocolate drizzle and rainbow sprinkles. ‘Oh they’ll look great!’

Back at the house with gang enthusiastically on board, I had a quick consultation of google just to see how much butter to use. It said 3 tablespoons to a 10oz package. I couldn’t be arsed working out the conversion so I referred back to my North American childhood, figuring the two bags of marshmallow we’d bought was about the equivalent of one over there. I plopped em all in and started to stir. The girls got busy melting chocolate, ‘bain marie or microwave?’ opting for the former after a bit of arguing. 

By the time we poured in the cereal they were already pretty hyper and I realised whilst I was focussed on hot pan, they’d managed to illicitly down half a jar of sugar confetti. My mixture was exceptionally sticky, almost un-manipulatable, clinging to every surface. A crunchy, stringy, gooey mess. As they tried to mould doughnut-shaped morsels their hysteria grew. I couldn’t figure out what had gone wrong. It was almost impossible to get it out of the pan, let alone into the small square dish I’d lined with baking paper. 

When I finally managed to squish it all in, most of what the girls had been working with was in their tummies, bar four, giant, misshaped ricey hoops. The chocolate was coloured a minty, shriek-inducing green and splattered across the rings (as well as their mouths). In the midst of the frenzy I began asking myself what I’d done. They were beyond wild. Three young girls screaming at the top of their lungs, chasing each other in circles, ricocheting around the kitchen. I managed to usher them into the back yard and stuffed the remaining treats in the freezer to ‘set some’. High-strung mother could turn up at any point and I dreaded to think what she’d make it all. 

At one point they went upstairs and barricaded themselves under a mountain of dismantled settee cushions. Then one of them accidentally locked herself in the bathroom. Cue more delirium. I finally managed to get her out only to have them start singing (to the tune of Britney Spears) ’Oops I did it again, I farted’ over and over and over again, followed by bursts of uncontrollable laughter, more screaming, more flying about. 

Now of course I know sugar has this effect on kids and I’m sure I experienced similar binges at their age, but I’d forgotten just how powerful a drug it is. They went mental. In fact they’re still at it and I know the doorbell’s gonna ring any second. Following up from this afternoon’s pick-up mishap, can’t imagine mum’s gonna be too impressed when she turns up to collect her ‘sweet surprise’. 


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