One of the lovely things about your children growing up is them looking after you, for a change.
As Flea’s got older, her naturally kind and thoughtful nature works in my favour pretty often.
Like the time I had a cold, and she ran me a hot bubble bath with candles. She also set up a laptop showing one of my favourite shows, and put a cup of coffee on the bath shelf.
Other times, Flea offers to help with lunch or dinner.
While my daughter is unspeakably kind and thoughtful, well – it’s fair to say she has inherited my flair in the kitchen.
Like the time I asked her to “boil the kettle and make a little gravy“. So she did – in the kettle.
Another time, Flea offered to make sandwiches for lunch, and I said, “Sure, there’s some egg mayonnaise in the fridge.”
Five minutes later, proud as punch, Flea presented me with two sandwiches. Filled with mayonnaise.
“Er, Flea this is just mayonnaise,” I said.
“No, it’s egg mayonnaise,” Flea insisted.
It turned out that because mayo has an egg on the label, Flea assumed that this was in fact what “egg mayo” looked like.
Today, though, might be my favourite cooking adventure so far.
Flea offered to make lunch. She was eating leftover pizza that needed warming in the oven. I opted for a carton of soup, which I poured out into a bowl for her to heat up. “Just pop it into the microwave for 4 minutes, and I’ll have it with a couple of slices of toast,” I said.
Five minutes later, Flea popped her head round the dining room door to tell me lunch was ready. She looked equal parts proud, and nervous.
“It doesn’t look all that good, but…”
“I’m sure it’s lovely darling,” I replied. After all, how far wrong can you go with a bowl of soup?
Well – you need to put it in a bowl, for starters. This was my lunch:
Yep. My 11-year-old had put the toast onto a plate, buttered the toast, and then served the soup on top of it.
I tried not to laugh, honest I did.
But when I saw the lovingly shredded lettuce that Flea had cut to garnish the lunch, well – I might have laughed so hard I had to lie down on the kitchen floor.
In Flea’s defence, I *love* that she always tries to find a way to make the things she cooks for me look special. And she doesn’t eat soup. Hates it. Barely even considers it food. But I’m almost certain that at some point in her eleven years on the planet, she must have actually seen people eating soup.
In case you’re wondering, yes, I did apologise for laughing. And I did eat the soup. It was delicious.
But next time I might go back to eating it from the bowl.