Burnt Soup Stories

On the way to school this morning Z was asking me the hardest mathematical questions he could think of. Even though I have never been any good at maths, I was able to answer his 6 year-old questions with ease. After each answer he sat back in his seat, bewildered at how I could possibly be the guardian of so much knowledge.

I remember thinking the same thing about my own parents. In fact, this thought regularly crosses my mind about them.

But today it is not just my own parents I would like to applaud. Three years ago Loobylu wrote about an incident in her life and her mum's reaction to it. Still all these years later I think of her mum's words when I feel my blood boiling over something that feels huge but is ultimately not.

Burnt Soup Story:

Well - that big pot of stock became soup this evening and was sitting on the stove simmering while I read Amelia some stories and, thanks to still being a bit of a novice with electric cooking, a huge amount of pasta stuck to the bottom of the pot and burnt. The house is full of that evil burnt food smell. Big-P has just gone out to pick up two small pizzas. What a waste of stock! What a sad shame. It smelt so good just twenty minutes ago. I called my mum to moan about it and she said in all her wisdom “Ahh, life is full of burnt soup stories.”