Being a Sunday, I tend to mooch around the house. I sweep up here, sort out there, and then my favourite, I cook my family a meal. Not that they fend too much for themselves during the week that is. But you know, I figure that after enduring my crumbed chicken and oven chips once too often in the week, I like to give them one real food meal on a Sunday.
And as yesterday was the coldest day since weather has been recorded, I decided to give them a hearty beef stew. So easy to do, but real comfort food and minimal pots.
Great, there I was, poised, veges at the ready, knife in hand, beef shin exposed and ready for cubing when I felt a presence. I tried to ignore it, but then it spoke, a small little voice, “what you doing?”. My daughter had arrived.
My inner self started to scream, and my knuckles began to turn white as I gripped my knife. I didn’t need help, I was perfectly happy chopping and browning and wallowing in beef stock. But worse was to come, “can I make the pizza for lunch?” Yep, hubby had arrived.
What is it with them? It happens every single time. As soon as I start cooking they arrive to get in on the action. It drives me insane. They do not see they are invading my space and that my once happy mood dissolves faster than stock cubes in boiling water.
And so, before I knew it, daughter had the onions sweating and beef browning, and hubby was rummaging in the fridge extracting pizza toppings. And as for me, well that’s easy, I was at the sink.
What happened to the cupcakes you might be wondering. Well in an attempt to wrestle my onions back from my daughter I mentioned I had a new recipe we might have a go at at some stage. Bad mistake, some stage became that moment and she started hauling out pots and flour and enough butter and sugar to produce a heart failure.
So there I was an hour later, 20 cupcakes cooling, every pot in the house used, pizza cooked and eaten and and me still in soapy water, but at least the stew was in.
I know I sound like a grumpy old cow, and I should embrace my family wanting to be with me, but sometimes, just sometimes, I wish they’d just get out of my kitchen!