Sunday Morning and Pancakes for Six
We had six children in the house last night – our three, and three friends. They roughly divided themselves into two groups – 10 and 11 year olds on the sofa bed in the spare room downstairs, and 9 year olds on the bunk beds upstairs. Thankfully, because most of the kids we know are wonderful, the evening went off without any major incidents (if you can count threatening to confiscate a mobile phone that was being used to secretly film and then bully our daughter within five minutes an incident – yeah, I wasn't happy either).
Since when is it a good ideafor a 10 year old to have a mobile phone ? I know it's up to parents to judge what they let their kids have, but really? I have never known any children mature enoughat that age to deal with a mobile phone – or the internet – on their own. I wouldn'twant them to be put in that position either. Maybe I'm just a bit old fashioned. We thought about the whole mobile phone argument when our eldest “came of age”, and agreed that each of our children would get their phone at 11 years old, during the summer before going up to “big school” – mostly in order to keep in touch with them if they want to visit friends houses after school.
Anyway... I didn't mean to write a huge rant about kids having mobile phones (and of course, this part of the country being what it is, the kids invariably have iPhone hand-me-downs from their parents – way to go with teaching the kids either the value of money, or the concept of earning anything, ever).
Yes, I do have a chip on my shoulder. A huge one.
We were awoken this morning at a little after six by our youngest daughter, who had been awake and talking since the early hours with her friend. They wanted permission to go and watch cartoons downstairs. We grunted a yes, and they silently tiptoed off towards the lounge.
An hour later, they were back.
“We're hungry”
“Ok, I'll come and make some breakfast in a minute”
“Can we have pancakes”
... pause while I silently groan into the pillow...
“Ok.”
Ten minutes later I was stood in the kitchen, barefoot, scruffy jogging pants, the t-shirt I slept it, and hair stuck out in all directions – cracking eggs, weighing flour, and whisking pancake mixture. Miraculously children started to appear from all over the house, gathering around the breakfast table.
While making the third pancake my other half appeared in the kitchen – looking equally bleary eyed.
“I could have made those”
“They were hassling me, so I just got on with it”
“Cup of tea?”
“Yes please...”
I didn't get to drink the cup of tea. I did churn out a couple of pancakes each for them, washed everything up, and cleared the lounge up. While finally boiling the kettle to make a coffee our eldest turned up downstairs, and looked in her food cupboard (she has her own food – she's coeliac).
“I haven't got anything.” (what she really meant was “there is nothing I fancy right now” – in reality she has a huge cupboard full of just about everything you can possibly buy for coeliacs).
I put my coffee down, got in the shower, got dressed, and headed straight into town to buy food while all the kids got ready to go to Church with my other half. I returned with crumpets, bread, bacon, cheese, and all manner of other things.
Ten minutes later I shouted up the stairs;
“Bacon sandwich!”
Miss Fourteen smiled as she stumped down the stairs.
Finally, nearing lunchtime, I put the sofa bed away and turned the spare room back from a scene of apocalyptic destruction, back into a living room once more. Kettle on, instant coffee at the ready, and I might even have a semblence of an afternoon to myself... until the next thing lands on me.