You Stayed With Us

Science Gone Wrong

Jennie's POV

Many weeks had passed since we got back from Hong Kong, but somehow our house still felt like a theme park running on pure sugar and questionable safety regulations. The kids were soaking up their last weeks of summer like they were in some sort of mission.

And today's activity?

Science experiments.

In theory, it was supposed to be educational.

In reality... well, let's just say the moment I saw Lisa carrying an industrial-sized bottle of vinegar into the kitchen, I knew I should've run.

"Okay, team," Lisa announced like she was about to lead a NASA mission, "we have volcanoes, we have slime, and we have... rockets."

The twins lit up instantly, eyes darting between the piles of baking soda, glitter, empty soda bottles, and an alarming amount of food coloring. Ella adjusted her imaginary "scientist" glasses and started setting up her little station like she was in a lab. And Scarlett—our wildcard—was dragging a blanket and jump rope toward the kitchen island.

"I'm gonna fly!" she declared proudly, holding up the blanket like a cape.

I gave her my best mom stare. "Scarlett, sweetheart, what exactly is your plan here?"

"I'm gonna be Super Scientist Girl!" she said, tying the blanket around her neck. "I'm gonna make rockets and then fly with them."

Lisa snorted. "That's... very ambitious. Also, slightly terrifying."

Ella took charge of the first experiment: the volcano. She was carefully sculpting it out of an upside-down cup and clay while the twins were whispering suspiciously in the corner. I caught a glimpse of them "modifying" their experiment with an entire packet of Mentos.

"Boys," I warned, "remember, we're doing small eruptions, not trying to launch our kitchen into space."

Nathan grinned. "It's not big, Mommy, it's just... extra fun."

Noah nodded innocently. "Yeah, cooler."

Right. "Cooler." The same way a hurricane is "cooler" than a light breeze.

Scarlett, meanwhile, had decided her parachute cape needed "rocket boosters" and was now taping plastic spoons to the back of it. Cooper, our overly curious dog, had plopped himself right in the middle of the floor, sniffing at every bottle and occasionally licking at the baking soda like he was the official safety inspector.

Finally, Ella was ready for the volcano eruption. "Dada, can you pour the vinegar?" she asked Lisa.

Lisa leaned in, holding the cup over the volcano with exaggerated precision. "Alright, stand back, everyone—"

And then it happened.

The baking soda and vinegar mixture didn't just bubble over—it exploded. A foamy, bright red eruption shot up and landed... directly in Ella's face.

For a second, there was complete silence. Ella froze, dripping in neon red foam, her eyes wide in shock.

And then Lisa and I—like the mature, responsible parents we are—absolutely lost it.

I doubled over, clutching my stomach, while Lisa had to hold onto the counter for support because she was laughing so hard she was wheezing.

"Oh my God—Ella—" I gasped between laughs, "you look like you've just survived a strawberry smoothie hurricane."

Ella wiped her face with the back of her hand, glaring, but even she cracked a smile when she saw herself in the oven's reflection.

"Dada!" she yelled, half-laughing, half-mortified. "You did that on purpose!"