PottyMouthMama: Reporting For Domestic Duty

This weekend was going to be all about me being a domestic goddess and surpassing my motherly duties. Ticking every box and getting a gold star. 


And do you think that happened?


Er. A little.


I had plans to tidy the whole house. To ditch all the junk hovering around our house. It's mounting. In piles. In bags. In boxes. And I can't seem to get on top of it. Well wait - I can get on top of it, I can lie on top of it, I just can't control it. 


I was going to get wildly domestic in the kitchen. I had grand aspirations.


Instead Saturday I had a wee hangover, and shuffled around the house like a hermit crab. What kind of young player am I? 


I did sort out some clothes. I did bake choc chip cookies. 


And tonight, Matt went out to do some painting, while I stayed at home - and thought - yes! I will make pasta. Then it all went to poo. I was rolling pasta, I had the water bubbling away - the pasta was rolling, rolling, too long to hold in both my hands - I felt like Big Anthony out of Strega Nona. Pasta everywhere. I finally got it into the pot and kept rolling out extra pasta - and then the pasta went bloaty and gluggy. Poor pasta.


So the smalls wound up with toast and baked beans for dinner. 


And then I hurried them through dinner, tucked them into bed and felt irate with myself for being such a grump.