First, whoever says the place of a woman is in the kitchen seriously needs a rethink.  I won’t say more!

Over the weekend I had to “babysit” an 8-year-old going to 9- Friday through Sunday. You know what that means? Let me tell you. It means I must do the dishes, bath him, prepare breakfast, lunch and dinner, supervise homework including preparation for exams and then I must meet my various deadlines and deliverables. Note I work at the C-suite level.

Friday started with my first goof, Madam had told me school closes 2.30pm, a friend whose children attended the same school was in my office while talking he said to me school closes 2.00pm. Whom should I have believed? Alas I believed my friend only to get to school at 2.06pm with the school still in session. School closed 2.30pm.

As we drove home, I was already racking my brain on what we would eat for lunch. I had the option of dashing to an eatery, but I said no, better to eat healthy plus cooking won’t be a bad idea. By the time we got home I had settled on nothing to be cooked. I just couldn’t figure out what it is to cook but for the bread we bought on our way home my secrete would have been in the open. Yes, I survived Friday.

While I was still enjoying my sleep on Saturday, I heard rumblings, what’s happening there? Its my son. He was already up, brushed his teeth and munching the remaining bread from last night as he watched his favorite programme on TV. I struggled to wake up when I realized breakfast was on me. What would we eat for breakfast I asked the poor boy who was by now hungry as that bread wasn’t enough, he made some suggestions and we settled democratically for rice, beans and fish stew. Trust me it was a unanimous decision which I was proud of.

But it came with huge responsibilities. Having to drive out to go get fish for the fresh stew as we both decided to “jettison” the already cooked stew by Madam. Thanks to our stars the young man knows where his mum gets the fish and we didn’t need to bargain, the fish seller knows him too, so we were treated as “customer daa da” (good customer). This time my secret was again covered.

Back from the market, the beans hasn’t been picked. Usually this would have been done but I guess there hasn’t been the time for my madam to do this. I had to pick the beans, did dishes and then cook. As I pour the beans into the pressure cooker the 2^nd goof unfolded, I was looking for the lid to the pressure cooker. I looked everywhere for like 3 minutes couldn’t figure where it was. Then I asked my boy where the lid could be, he went straight to the cooker, opened one of its shelves and gave it to me. I was proud of him. He knows his way around the kitchen- A pass for the mum. He just saved me having to call my wife to ask for the cover of a pot. Imagine!

Rice and beans wasn’t ready until around 3pm. So, we technically missed breakfast. At about 5pm, we were again democratically consulting ourselves on what we would have for dinner. By this time, I had supervised his preparation for exam, and we were moving to assignments. There was a suggestion for us to have Indomie or spaghetti, but I had unilaterally banned the eating of Indomie as it wasn’t a healthy food at least in my opinion.

When we both couldn’t agree, and it was already raining and getting to 7.30pm I lifted the embargo on Indomie-that was the easiest food I could cook at that time. No Indomie at home, what do we do? He described where this is sold in the community and I had to step in the rain to go get it. It doesn’t make sense letting the young man go to bed hungry. We ate Indomie and at about 9pm we were still doing his homework.

Thanks to all men who babysit and who support with house chores. Thanks to my father for insisting I know how to cook. Whether tasty or not, I cooked my rice in a pot and not kettle.

“Plenty thanks” to all women who do this seamlessly without complaining!  Now I know why we have several Mother’s Day and one Father’s Day. Give us more Father’s Day too please! Men are roasting.

PS: I didn’t get to bath for the boy until 9.45pm. I wonder what I was doing. Don’t ask me if I had mine.  I didn’t do any work; carried over all my deadlines and deliverables. And for the stew, my son say’s its tasty though the mother contested this!