Can I not just make the spaghetti carbonara?!

Well, I enjoyed a nice lie-in this morning watching an old episode of Gilmore Girls in bed (how luxurious), while Michael took both the children for the first 45 minutes of the day. That felt nice. Turns out it was to be my solitude for the day...

When we got back from Mass I decided that I'd cook the carbonara I'd been meaning to for a couple of days. The chicken needed using up and I also thought it'd be nice to have some solitude in the kitchen, even if it did involve cooking. It was a shot in the dark.

About 2.7 seconds into the cooking Michael came in to get various things, including shirts he was going to iron whilst looking after Isaac and Grace in the lounge (what was he thinking???). Isaac stood at the gate crying. Michael declared that he wanted me. I declared that he wanted food and maybe he should feed him instead of ironing the shirts and that particular task could be done later. I told him Isaac liked cottage cheese. 

In came Michael, to rummage in the fridge. 'Where's the cottage cheese?', he asked. For goodness sake. I marched over to the fridge (where I was told to calm down) and pointed to it, standing there on the second shelf, not exactly hiding in Afghanistan. 'Can't I get 10 minutes in the kitchen alone to get on with it??', I asked. 

No. Apparently not. Michael stood near me, baby Isaac under arm, feeding him cottage cheese on a spoon. Right in my 'cooking area', where I like to chop or grate and be undisturbed. 

He finally went out, to be followed in by Gracie. 'Mummy, can I help make the dinner? Can I put the cheese in?', she asked. I lament the day I ever let her help cook. I explained, for the second or third time, that this wasn't a job for 'tinies' and she could help me make the bread later on. The cheese, I explained, needed to be added right at the end. It was carbonara, after all. At which, Gracie took another helping of grated parmesan from the bread board. 'Daddy', she said. 'This cheese is called parmesan.' She hovered a bit more and then took a bit more cheese.

Michael then entered to get some hummus and bread from the fridge, to give Grace a snack. This time he didn't ask a question, but still... there was some general talking. And a few minutes of silence and solitude would have been nice. 

A number of other interruptions and eventually the carbonara was made. I told Michael he could come in and get the cutlery. To which he asked what kind I'd like. 'The kind that goes with spaghetti carbonara', I replied, exasperated. Followed by 'Use your initiative! Can I not just have a few minutes without being asked questions??!'

It's official. I have turned into a shrew. 

Is this what lack of solitude does to you?