"Where is the Factory?"

We have a temperamental oven at our rental house. When the cooking time on the recipe says 1 hour, I never know if it will be done in a half hour or in two hours. It’s anyone’s guess. This evening I had a lasagna in the oven, and wouldn’t you know, but after it had been in there 30 minutes past the cooking time, I had to take it out. (We had some things at church tonight to be at.) Low and behold, the lasagna was cold in the middle, and nearly black at the sides. Frustrated, I told Knut that I couldn’t get something else ready in only 10 minutes. (We had to leave in 15 minutes). We decided to get some fast food on the way to church, and deal with getting the lasagna properly cooked later. Knut was discouraged at this unhealthy choice and grumbled. “Here we go….off to the ‘fat factory’.” Silje’s eye’s lit up: “We’re going to a factory!” We just laughed at her cute comment, and headed out the door.
We should have explained to her better, because as we arrived at church, she was upset that there was no factory after all. “But I wanted to go to the factory! Where is the factory!”
Sometimes it’s hard to keep a straight face when explaining things to the kids, because they seem so silly to me, but to them, it is perfectly serious. Silje will come to me in all seriousness and say that something is “crookerated.” (crooked) She is completely serious, but it’s so hard not to laugh. I think that might be discouraging to kids, that they are always laughed at. As the youngest in my family, I remember hating how everything I did was “cute” and “funny.” It took longer, I think, to be taken seriously than my older siblings.
Well, maybe it’s just a part of growing up, because I don’t think that even remembering my childhood could stop me from laughing about the “factory.”