We make a lot of juice on a freshly-squeezed basis. I love hot water with lemon juice, and the boys go crazy for oranges. They are allotted one serving of juice per day. It takes the juice from two navel oranges (for each of them), diluted with a little water, to satisfy their orange juice craving.
Between making juice for drinking and cooking, the sturdy little hand-juicer gets almost daily use, with both boys clamoring for a turn to help squeeze. Luke can usually get a bit of juice to flow, while Ben twists the orange in vain.
We’re not juice snobs; the boys have no problem drinking juice from 100% frozen concentrate. Again, they want to assist.
This is something that they can make, for real. My interaction is minimal and mostly verbal instruction. I take a can of frozen juice out of the freezer, push over two chairs, arm them with chopsticks and fetch the pitcher.
They pour in the water. Unbeknownst to them, I instruct them to liberally water it down with 4.5 cans of water instead of the instructed 3 cans. I used to do 5.5 cans, until Luke protested that the juice was weak.
Luke does a great job pouring. Ben is like a spill waiting to happen. My hands twitch the entire time he’s taking his turn. I tell myself that I am honing my reflexes, but in all honesty, watching him haphazardly pour wrecks my nerves.
After that, they mix and poke, until the frozen lump of juice is dissolved. The boys are very serious and protest if I try to cap the pitcher while any chunk of juice remains.
It’s a ridiculously simple task that gives them great pleasure.
It’s a bit of extra work on my part to allow them to make the pitcher of juice, but who am I to deny them that joy?