Saucegate Ends, Another Phase Begins

Never let it be said that my kids aren’t dramatic.

The lack of tomato sauce has clearly affected them in more ways than one. Sadly, their smartarse dramatics have only been escalated by the tomato sauce deficit and I am torn between purchasing some just to make them stop, and not every buying any again because a) it is entertaining and b) because I can.

Saucegate Day 12

I caught sight of the Daily Whiteboard Update, which really should have clicked when my twelve-year-old decided he was going to make salt and vinegar chips.

His favourite.

Of course, although inheriting the Love of Food genes from his parents, he inherited my approach to preparing food. A little along the lines of “This sounds like a good idea, let me make it up as a I go along!”

I wasn’t really aware of what was going on. All I know is the smoke alarm went off.

This isn’t a big deal in itself. The stupid thing is badly placed and goes off if someone sighs or farts in the kitchen.

Perhaps, however, it could sense that it was Monkey Boy cooking, and had picked up on my hovering stress in relation to the situation, because it seemed to be a little more insistent than when I had a some frozen bread in the toaster and had yet to depress the ‘cook’ button.

I raced to the kitchen asking “What the …?” and got “I’m making salt and vinegar chips! Aren’t I clever?”

The White Board escaped my vision; it may have provided the answer for me, it seems.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I ask.

“Chillax! I’m under control,” he tells me, giving me absolutely no cause for chillaxing nor for being confident he had it all under control.

Unbeknownst to me, he had also rung Grumpy Pants asking him to buy tomato sauce on his way home. I had asked him, some two hours earlier, to call his Dad and remind him to bring some much needed bread and milk – the former of which we had none for breakfast nor school lunches this morning, and the latter of which had been used in my coffee and the lack of which had caused a tantrum in Chippie.

Thus, Grumpy arrived home, did a bit more of what I did, only he knows what he’s talking about and has more of a clue as to what is happening when someone is not cooking ‘properly’.

Subsequently, as I sat to do some work, a rather heated discussion about ‘how things are cooked’ was happening between the Grumpy One and Monkey Boy; both of whom ‘know everything’ and are ‘always right’.


I attempted to suggest to Monkey Boy that, given his dad is a chef, he may like to be open to some suggestions Grumpy has as he does know a thing or two about cooking.

“Mum, don’t stress! I have it all under control,” was the response.

Not long after I could hear Grumpy advising things like “Do you think she’d like that?” and “Maybe not add so much” and “Don’t you think it would have been nice to ask her if she wanted sauce before you put it on” and such ridiculous silliness along those lines.

Finally, “Ok, but she’s working so she might want to be left alone.”

Advice which was also ignored, as so proud of himself was he with this salt and vinegar chips that he just had to present me with some.

Then I

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