You know how sometimes you get the urge to do the “right thing” and then you lose your mind completely by deciding to act on those urges? As in “tomorrow morning I am going to get up at 5am and go to gym” or “As of today, I will go on a wine detox for 4 weeks” or something stupid like that. And then your alarm goes off at 5am or 5pm rolls around and the only thing standing between you and insanity is a glass of Chardonnay and you think W.T.actual.F was I thinking, I must have been drunk when I came up with that idea.
Today I decided that I was going to cook supper for the family. As in a real supper involving the use of BOTH the stove AND the oven, involving only minimal use of the microwave. With actual pots and pans and stuff. And we were all going to sit down at the dining room table and act like a normal family.
I told my family about it and their reaction was slightly less than enthusiastic.
Twins: GROAN! WHY mom, why! Why do you hate us so!
Husband: I think your mother is drunk.
I cheerily put on my apron and told my family that not only WILL they eat the supper I am about to cook, but they will LIKE it too.
I then poured myself a lovely glass of wine and sent a text message to my mother who is selfishly gallivanting across the globe leaving me alone to figure out how to cook all by myself, to ask her how to cook the carrots that taste like sweets. You know, when there is lots of butter and sugar in it. Because I figured the only way my children would eat the carrots I made is if I disguised them with butter and sugar. She was not available. (Selfish.) I then phoned my sister to ask her. She was of no use at all. She even laughed at me. Horrible sister, am thinking of unfriending her. She told me to ask someone Afrikaans. So I Skyped my mother-in-law in Holland who very kindly explained EXACTLY how to cook carrots. Because she is Afrikaans. And because she loves me. She knows me well enough to tell me step by step (example: you have to peel the carrots first.) I poured another smidgen of wine and spent 20 minutes catching up with my MIL.
I then laid the table and cooked the food. Everything came out perfectly. I called my delightful family to the dinner table and we all sat down. I said we were now going to talk about our day, like normal families do. Adam said that he thought he might vomit if he ate the carrots. Marko said he has to have three bites at least. Kate gagged a few times and so in order to preserve my peaceful illusion of happy family dining, I told her she only had to eat two more bites. Which made Adam very upset because why did he have to eat three bites and Kate only had to eat two and then Adam teased Max and Max got upset and so I shouted at Adam and he sulked and then I thought W.T.actual.F was I thinking. I made the decision never to do that again. I hate cooking. I really, really hate cooking. I suck at it. And my children don’t like eating anything other than the simple meals they are used to. Cooking (anything other than the plain, simple meals my family are used to) = a terrible idea.
Next time I get the idea to pretend to be some kind of suburban housewife just give me a short sharp smack on the side of the head. Pour me another glass of wine and point me in the direction of the microwave. Let’s stick to what we know.