Kids in the Kitchen

I’m in two minds about allowing children into the kitchen.

On the one hand, I think they learn invaluable skills that will last them a lifetime. Also they can cook dinner and make my life easiter.

On the other hand – get out of my fucking kitchen!

(I don’t do well with anyone else in there whilst I’m cooking and fucking up meals and rainbow jelly and stuff. I don’t like anyone in the kitchen when I’m in there.)

After burning my finger whilst cooking lunch today (yes, reheating leftover bbq is “cooking”, so ner) I was even more conscious of the three year old, reaching up to the chopping board and stealing all the fetta cheese as I was trying to chop it.

I finally resorted to “Will you keep him on your lap before I cut his fucking finger off?!” just as I reached across, quite quickly, to move his hand from under the knife and … cut my finger.

Yes, my own finger.


Now both my pointy, pokey fingers are hurty.


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