water fights, fudgesicles, and Rufus M.

Yesterday I spent the afternoon with my favorite small boys. While their grandmother was at the market, I helped negotiate the terms of war, which involved the hose, water balloons and pistols, and the usual amount of screaming and tears and what my own boys called “violent affection” — easily mistaken for going for the jugular.

“Will there be blood?” I asked.

“We can’t promise there won’t be blood, Nicole.”

(There was no blood.)

I was Switzerland.

After drying off, we moved on to card games, the six-year-old slaying me with his dramatically drawn out, “Go … fish … M’DARLING.” Every time.

After dinner I read aloud the first chapter of Eleanor Estes’ Rufus M. (highly recommend) while the boys enjoyed fudgesicles I had made.

I used the recipe passed along by my college boyfriend who wasn’t too keen on children and who ended up with five boys—two sets of twins and a “pickle in the middle.” He was good at jazz improv and favored redheads. I am a brunette; he broke my heart. 

But good pudding! Probably found on the back of some container or other.

Homemade Fudgesicles

3 tablespoons cornstarch
1/4 c good quality cocoa powder
1/2 c (or slightly less) sugar
sprinkle of salt

Whisk until there are no lumps, in a wide pan that hasn’t cooked fish lately—I use a skillet with high sides, which, according to the college bf, cooks up the pudding faster than a tall narrow pot.

Slowly add:

3 cups milk, whisking constantly (continually?) Don’t let lumps form!

Cook over medium-low heat until almost simmering. I switch to a spatula for stirring when it starts to get thick.

Transfer back to the large Pyrex measuring cup, then let cool ten minutes or so.

Remove and skin that forms and eat it, then pour into popsicle moulds. 

Negotiate sharing or fight over the leftover pudding.

Rufus M. got a bit of a soaking before bed. The wrinkled pages will make an excellent story someday, just like the coffee stain on our beloved old copy of Michael Sims’ Darwin’s Orchestra.

Good day.