Making Stock

My 11 year old son desperately wanted to make chicken stock this morning. 
In fact, he was begging.  Maybe it was an attempt to get out of doing his math problems.  But whatever the case may be, I just couldn't say no. 
We plunged in to that carcass.  Actually we had two wonderful chicken carcasses from the evening before, when we had friends over for dinner.  Together we pulled most of the meat from the carcass, set it aside, roughly chopped up carrots, celery and onion and threw it all into the biggest pot we own.  Simmering now since morning, the whole house is filled with the aroma.  My son walks through the kitchen as though he is in a trance, hypnotized by the swirls of fragrance filling the kitchen and spilling out into the rest of the house.
I'm supposed to be cleaning my house, making some phone calls, and pushing through our academics, but I just can't stop thinking about this soup.  Probably because with each and every inhale, I'm reminded of it cooking over there on the stove-top.
The stock will simmer all day; this afternoon we will strain it and then make a delicious chicken noodle soup. 
And my son will be licking his bowl, I guarantee it!