*Sigh* (not actually sure of the point of the additional ** but it sort of looks better and more meaningful – like in a comic).
You would think that by now my kids are old enough to fend for themselves when I am out. But they clearly still feel the need to pretend that they are not.
I have had this week off from work to spend time with them, but today I had to go in for various meetings…..
SO. I left this morning having put a chicken in the oven in manner of proper mother who is capable of looking after her childrens wellbeing at all times even when not in the house. I left strict instructions for it’s removal from oven. Didn’t realise I should have gone beyond that. Disaster. Before I’d even left the house the oven was smoking profusely and I smelt of smoke. It was a little worrying to leave the building as all the kids were still in bed and I could barely find the door – even though I’d sorted out the drama and put on the extractor fan, I couldn’t be sure that anyone would wake up in time to take the chicken out of the oven two hours later when cooked.
You can, however, always rely on my youngest to be the responsible chef. He was up before I left the house and of course took it out in time and left it to cool.
When I came home this evening it was still on the side with a couple of chunks taken out of it and all three kids were complaining that they were hungry. Truly it’s pathetic. I shouldn’t have to feel responsible for the fact that they are rubbish at fending for themselves and if I was my mother I’d spend all day every day telling them that I was married with two children at their age…
Apparently, because nobody had the foresight to cover the chicken it was attacked by one or more cats and they then refused to eat it.
Hardly surprising, but frankly I just don’t know why I bother.
That sort of thing doesn’t happen in households where the mother is a domestic goddess. It’s not fair.
