Freakout Friday

I thought I'd tell you a little about the events that preceded the birth of this blog yesterday morning.

I don't think the events are in themselves very interesting or significant, but they are the kind of thing that it is preferable to sweep under the carpet. If I am going to be honest here, I think one of the best ways of starting is to embarrass myself straight off so being honest is a little easier from then on.

A was starting night shifts yesterday and so was around in the morning. Food is always a little complicated when shifting to nocturnal for a few days so we decided for various reasons that we'd have a big breakfast. I was planning to cook but one thing and another meant that A ended up doing most of it. Towards the end of process I came into the kitchen and saw where he had put the spoon he was using to make the scrambled eggs. Propped up against what, to me, is the filthiest part of the cooker, an area we have, sadly, argued over before.

"Why would you do that?" I screech.

And then we are off. When I say we, I really mean me. A shouted back just because being shouted at isn't very fun but I'm really going for it. Higher and higher pitch, louder and louder, more and more panicked. If he can do that with the spoon, what other horrors has he committed? Do I need to tear the kitchen apart and bin all offending items?

By this time, G is howling. I should stop but I can't. A asks me to stop.
"I'm going to bed," I yell and run upstairs.

G follows, very determinedly. When he reaches my bed, we have a cuddle. Then we chat about nothing for a while before he says

"Mummy, I have an idea."
"Oh?"
"Yes, next time Daddy does something you don't like, why don't you just ask him to do something different?"

Yes, darling, why don't I just do that?