It's a Gift

I've been tutoring some kids in English and, to wrap up, had the children write and perform a play based on The Mouse and the Motorcycle in front of their classmates.

When the performance was done, we opened it up to questions. Middle Child was the first to raise his hand.

"If you were given more creative license, what would you transmogrify into?"

But what was more startling to have come out of Middle Child's mouth happened when I was nudged awake on Mother's Day.

"Where do you keep the cooking spray?"

He made cake-in-a-cup and wrote a poem that went like:

Where I'm From
I'm from the gifts that you give me for no particular reason.
I'm from the music you blare in the car.
I'm from you changing your hair from black to red to purple.
I'm from the yummy dinners you make every day.
I'm from the good smelling quiche you make for me when I come home.