My son has taken up cooking without my consent. Look up careless in the dictionary, you’ll find my son’s picture as the definition. I simply don’t want to come home one day to find all my shoes and three cats burned to the ground on account of him testing out his cooking skills, when he really has no reason to cook- there’s plenty of food in the fridge.
He’s 15, of course he doesn’t obey the rule “don’t cook when I’m not home” - Like I said, he’s 15- I know my child so I set my expectations accordingly.
I come home everyday noticing he cooked because a less careless child would at least make a mockery of me by cleaning up after himself. Not my child though.
Evidence is EVERYWHERE.
So I unplugged the stove and told him something was wrong with it and that I called an order for maintenance to come fix it next week.
(Hey! Hey! I am a good mother!)
Another child would figure something was up since this is not the first time “something is wrong with the stove” but not my child. He thinks it’s because he’s breaking something each time he cooks- and by god, I let him wallow in his guilt!
Outfit: shhhh! between me and y’all, don’t tell nobody, ok? These are the same slacks I wore yesterday. Our secret.
On a more serious note, I’m getting tired of the media accusing The Duchess of Cambridge of the “heinous crime” of *gasp* repeating clothes. One of these days I’ll get over my huge pet peeve of people telling other bodies that do not belong to them, what they should or should not wear. But it is not this day.
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