Let Them Eat Nectarines

I'm on strike. I'm not making dinner for my family until further notice.

I'm a little tired of wasting my time and my grocery budget planning, shopping, preparing, cooking and serving, only to scrape the lot off into the bin.

So I told my family yesterday that I was not going to be organising any dinners for them until I was ready.

The children did as they usually do, swiping fruit from the fruit bowl and begging and pleading for many cups of milk. I said, "Whatever, go for it."

Then they went to the freezer and found some half-finished frozen yoghurt. Normally I'd step in quickly and stop that sort of nonsense, but yesterday, I said, "Whatever, go for it."

They found a giant slice of watermelon in the fridge and took it to the table, along with a sharp knife. The Good Mother in me was on strike, and the Other Mother said, "Whatever, go for it."

Then Mr de Elba phoned. I told him what I was doing (nothing) and what the children were eating (everything). He thought it was all pretty amusing. Then he hatched a plan to come home via the grocery shop and save the day by making nachos. He asked me to stop the children eating stuff, but I wasn't too happy to include that in my description of Mummy On Strike.

Overall, I was pretty happy with this plan because by that stage, I was getting a little hungry myself.

At that time of day, a small trip for groceries can take a very long time. It was about Sonny's bedtime when Mr de E came home and started cooking. But it didn't bother me, because I was on strike. Mr de E made the nachos and we all sat down to eat long past both children's bedtimes. Delicious.

Then Mr de E headed off to a meeting and I bathed the children, dressed the children, cleaned the children's teeth and put the children into bed (one of whom had great trouble staying in bed.)
I fed Puppity Doggity, and then came upstairs and attacked THIS:

Some STRIKE!