Let me tell you a secret.. what my Da Vinci kids do at home..

I use notebooks..

Once when I was travelling..

I left at home, my notebook...

But lo and behold..

When I came back..

The screen broke and went black..

Their insight genius..

They dissected the pc body..

as they dissected the frogs..

To seek the root of problems..

They thought of repairing..

They thought they could fix it...

How can I laugh?

How can I talk?

How can I scold?

How can I explain?

I was just speechless..

and mindless, but at the end

forgiving and forgetting their errors..

Remember those old days..

The life span of all my electrical medias..

Not older than 5 years old..

They were dismantled and no longer working...

And my borrowed digital camera..

It went black and could no longer click..

These are the works of the Da Vinci kids...

The roofs not high enough..

The beds not soft enough..

The windows not open enough..

The cars not big enough..

The chairs not strong enough..

The kitchen not big enough..

The fans, the plates, the pans flying...

Everything is within their scrutiny..

Nothing goes amiss without them..

They tried all possible tricks and jokes..

But then, my maid didn't complain..

At least, respect and love is there..

Harmony and peace still felt...

The peas you buy..

You find them planted...

The nuts you buy for food..

You find them soaked in water..

The cactus you plant...

You find thorns on their clothes..

They will build houses with towels

and dresses from the closets..

They will build houses inside our house..

They will swing from one island to another..

made of sarongs and chairs upside down

They will sing with hair brushes and go on stage..

Belly dancing on beds and tables..

They are these young Da Vinci in our homes..

3 will make a market..

What about 5, with an additional 2?

The shoes in the shoe racks..

Whose is whose and where are there?

Hide and seek, seek and hide..

They imagine Jane and Tarzan

Oops, it is the mother that starts it..

When someone's birthday comes..

Flour and sugar, butter and eggs..

They bake and burnt, cut and replace..

At last they pile up 3 storey high..

For their beloved mother's birthday..

Yet it is just a growing up.. happy days..

They wash, they cook, they steam..

Some fish cut too small, too salty..

Too oily, too plain, overcooked...

Too sweet.. or with small worms still

among the washed vegetable leaves...

These are fine memories, sweet memories..

Only so alive among us.. this is life..

These are the works of the Da Vinci kids..