Tears, tantrums and terrible behaviour. Not the kids - me.
I never learn. I always think that maybe this time I can do it. This time it will go smoothly and everyone will be happy. But it's just not meant to be.
Put me in a kitchen by myself and I'll cook up a meal, a batch of cookies, a cake, whatever; whistling all the while. In the end it will taste good and the kitchen will be spotless. Add other people to the mix and I'll start to stress out; add my kids and I'll have a complete mental breakdown. This afternoon was no different.
The thing is, Steve is just so good at cooking with the kids. He's pretty good at involving the kids in pretty much anything actually. I keep thinking that this time I'll just calm down, fix Steve's easy going style firmly in my head and all will be well. And then Zoe starts grabbing eggs and running away at the same time that Liam starts up, seconds after the first ingredient is added to the mixer, with a whining "Mom can I lick the thing NOW?" They fight over who gets to scoop the flour and they fight over who gets to put in the sugar and they fight over who gets to stand on the blue stool and they fight over who gets to stand on the white stool. Then Zoe, feet clad in new summer sandals she dug out of her room, falls off her stool, taking the skin off my bare foot as she crashes to the floor; thus the tears - mine and hers. The second time this happens, the shoes are forcefully banished to the front entrance in a cloud of blue air and Liam opts for watching TV, claiming Zoe is "too loud" and probably thinking his poor mom is losing it. I'm not so sure she isn't.
We have cookies now. They taste good. The kitchen is a disaster. The kids are watching the Backyardigans. I'm thinking a beer is in order - even though I don't usually drink alone.
Hmmmm, come to think of it, maybe next time I should start the baking process off with a beer - or a martini.
