Forget being an astronaut, a doctor, an archaeologist*, a teacher. Guess what my kids want to be when they grow up?
For about a year now, Fisher has wanted to be a blacksmith. We went on a field trip with his class to the Art Center the other day and got to see a real, live blacksmith making real, live fireplace implements with his real, live, very hot forge. Fisher had lots of questions about apprenticing with a blacksmith; we’re thinking maybe our buddy Ralph Royer (if you live in or near Santa Cruz and need something awesome fabricated, call Ralph!) will let Fisher follow him around the shop when he’s old enough. (Seven is just too vulnerable and innocent an age to be hanging around Ralphie.)
And Rhys, as I am thinking I may possibly have mentioned but am far too lazy to go back and check out, wants to be a chef. (Originally, he wanted to be a "cewebwity chef," but when we pointed out that that tends to involve a lot of talking on-camera, he apparently changed his mind.) The kid loves food; he loves to eat; he loves to help out in the kitchen (and can actually be trusted with various jobs–he’s a mean potato peeler and sausage slicer!); he loves watching "Good Eats" and "Unwrapped" (though the appeal of "Iron Chef" seems to escape him, as it does me).
And when we were at the grocery store today, he asked "Mama, when will it be warm enough to have limeade?"
I said "I think it’ll be warm enough this weekend, Rhys; do you want to get some?"
He did, and as we were loading it into the cart, he asked "Don’t you think this would be nice with some fresh mint in it?"
It would, of course, and so we had to get mint too. Which he was able to pick out from the herb section at ten paces.
Do you think maybe our (er, extremely) loosely structured homeschool environment, where math more often than not takes the form of measuring ingredients (and halving/doubling recipes) and where cooking is an essential part of the curriculum, has anything to do with this culinary blossoming?
*what I was pulling for