Terrific Tremors and the Telephonic Cleansing

Sanballat was very angry when he learned that we were rebuilding the wall. He flew into a rage, and insulted and mocked us and laughed at us, and so did his friends and the army officers. "What does this poor, feeble group think they are doing?" he scoffed. "Do they think they can rebuild the wall in a day . . .? And look at those charred stones they are pulling out of the rubbish and using again!" Nehemiah 4:1-2 Living Bible

Ok. So the particular Homemade Salt Clay recipe that I used IS NOT Grandma's formula. (Maybe I should consult Heloise. Surely she can put her finger on it!) But the boy did not seems to mind. Israel jumped into his project with great relish, his eyes gleaming at the thought of the creations he would produce: stately buildings, columns, rows and rows of red tiled homes lining picturesque city streets. Ah. and the amphitheatre. Musn't forget that!

Meanwhile, Aubrey involved herself quite well in the making of her volcano. After donning an apron, she took the lead and got right to work. I came alongside, with an inquiry stated several times: "Did you read the directions?" and a directive that she read them to me. All went well.

Project Restoration Rock was in full swing. With the children content and happy, I began to buzz about, domestically, more for the preparation of this weekend's family wedding than anything else. Dishwasher, laundry, 'which dress am I going to wear' and an ever-present eye to the kitchen table.

Finally, Aubrey's mold was ready to be set. She requested my assistance. I complied. As I poured the white goo into the inverted cone, I watched with a bit of curiosity that the cylindrical object in the center was filling also. But I had no time to dwell on it: the plaster of paris was seeping out the corners of the mold AND the box I had secured it in!

"Quick! Quick! Wipe that up!"

Timer then set, Aubrey secured herself in a book to read whilst Israel continued his architecture.

Beep! The timer rang, and Aubrey jumped up. I came alongside, and together we removed the mold, and the cylinder.

"Well . . .

Umm . . .

Hmmm . . .

Somebody get me the pliers ~ ah, I believe we put this together wrong."

Sure enough, the cylinder was cemented into the very creation it was to form. Sigh.

Like clockwork, Israel's newest columnular building began to topple.

Tears.

Tremors.

Reassurance.

Bedtime.

Sigh.

I picked up my book, and retreated to the bedroom, closing the door. Shortly thereafter, Gil meandered in, bleary eyed from his nap on the couch. He fumbled. He searched. He picked around.

I couldn't take it anymore: "What are you looking for?!"

"My cell phone."

"The last place I saw you with it was outside when I arrived home . . .OH NO!! "

A quick dash to the washing machine produced the technological tool, completely intact, but certainly submerged in soapy laundry water.

Sigh. Yes, folks, yet another historical moment at the Broussard home:

Telephonic Cleansing.