Monday, 10 November 2008

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.

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.”

1 comment:

claudia said...

like my vines, destroyed by the hoon bobcat driver, such is life or should that be such is burnt soup, not really inportant in the long run, we can make the soup again. Love it. Cheers Claudia