Since we've relocated to New Zealand, I've been playing housewife for a change.
That means as well as packing, unpacking, and schlepping kids across the city, I've taken on more of the cooking duties.
Normally, Kyle cooks the evening meal, and as my waistline proves, he's a dab hand at it too. But while I'm waiting for the net and phone to be connected (and therefore to start work), I thought I'd take over the cooking detail for a while.
Bad move.
My kids hate my cooking. Apparently, my spaghetti bolognaise, Japanese curry, and fish and chips taste nothing like their fathers. Even after I ring Kyle at work to double-check his methods, and follow his instructions faithfully.
"It's not like Dadda's sketti and meat," Harmonie pouts, throwing down her fork in disgust. "I want Dadda's sketti!"
Finally, she deigns to eat the pasta without the sauce, while Chase refuses to touch it at all. Do you think Kyle leaves out a secret ingredient, just to make sure his food is better? Or, (gasp), could it be that I am just a crap cook?
"It's okay Mum," Chase says kindly. "You're good at making Mac and Cheese, noodles and soup."
They all come out of a packet. Great.
Next time it's my turn to cook, I'm doing takeaway.
They love their food ... as long as I'm not preparing it!
