I smell smoke...

Coming home from work is one of those make or break moments.  Get it wrong and the night can become an intolerable mess.  Get it right and things can still be a mess, but at least there is no yelling.

  There is no greater conflict going on today than the global phenomenon of the tired worker returning to the stressed home maker.  You may read about Afghanistan in the paper but do not be fooled; the greater war is right under our noses.  If you want to something about world peace it needs to start here.

My own homecomings are somewhat hit and miss, and I concede that any failing is largely on my part.  Still, I am learning perseverance!  I guess it becomes a little like the Israeli/Palestinian conflict where we continually argue  over the same bit of land, and when we tire of that we just destroy each other until the next ceasefire.
Today greeted me with challenges I had not previously encountered.  I got home and listened eagerly to Renae recount the trials and tribulations of the day, praising and admonishing each child in turn.  I then said "Renae, thats sound very interesting but why is the wok on fire?"

Renae had left the wok on the stove with oil in it and the ensuing inferno was enthralling our four small children.  Never fear! Our well drilled team had the fire under control in short order, and we all laughed heartily about it later over a peaceful dinner table.  Yes thats what happened.  Mmm, I don't think so Max.
I won't bore you with incredibly embarrassing details but lets just say the lino in front of the fridge will never be the same and Renae will probably display some sort of post traumatic stress symptoms when the wok comes out again.

So men, when you come home from work don't forget to do your bit for world peace and listen to the wife, but be sure to cast an eye over the kitchen first.
  

Facebook celebrity

One night the wife was preparing for a party with the girls.  Normally this doesn't take long. Kids have the effect of making most activities perfunctory.  Tonight was different.  There was apparently a good chance of being facebooked.

Facebook is like having your own private papparazzi.  Those 300+ friends you've collected are privy to your every movement and only too willing to snap a quick photo of you and post it online.  You can't buy that kind of attention, and you probably wouldn't want to.  Suddenly your rent-a-crowd is posting all manner of things about you in to the webosphere.  Its certainly not like you get a chance to censor what your mates think is appropriate sharing.  "Hey Bob, any reason you posted that pic of me looking completely retarded?", "Which one do you mean Barry?", " You know the one, where I'm scratching myself with one hand and spilling my beer with the other."

If you were smart you'd blackmail all your friends with your collection.  Suddenly that shot of your mates mullet or crew cut rats tail combo is worth $20 bucks.  At the very least it could be held as insurance against being facebooked yourself.   I guess the motto here people is think before you facebook.  You never know what that person might post about you!

The problem with kids

The problem with kids, well one anyway, is they get sick.  Being new to this world they just want try everything, including all the nasty viruses lurking about.  I found out recently that having four kids in a house makes handling illness not unlike a pandemic response.

First Contact: At 0200 attended distress call.  "Something happened to my body," states my three year old.  No kidding.  Its a miracle!  Somehow that sausage and vege at dinner has been transformed in to about four litres of Irish stew.  It might not feed five thousand but it could have come from that many.  How is that even possible?  Anyway the clean up crew is alerted and the civilians are scrubbed and decontaminated.  Or so we thought.
By the next day another falls sick.  House goes in to lockdown.  No dancing, no sports, no visiting friends.  TV and washing machine do overtime.  Start throwing out food as no one is eating any.
Despite going to Defcon 1(or whatever the worst is) they all still get sick.  Its not fair really.  Little zombies stumble about the house falling asleep and puking in random places.  Why can't they puke in a bowl?  Do they not know its coming?
Ah! What's that I hear?  One three year old has bit the other and the 5 year old is telling them to get out of her room?  Yes, we are on the mend.  Nothing shows that a child is feeling better than belligerence.
So hope and pray that the kids continue to fight like cats and dogs tomorrow so we can all get back to normal.  Only problem is I think I've got some Irish stew coming myself.  :(

Service

Having eaten out quite a bit the last couple of weeks I've been thinking about the kind of service you get and how it varies.  Often I find that the quirky service is far more interesting than what I've eaten.
Take my recent experience at a wedding reception.  Being a restaurant of some note they were apparently reluctant to leave water jugs on the tables, choosing rather to roam the room replenishing peoples rapidly diminishing glasses.  Nothing wrong with this in theory, as who knows what disaster could befall guest left to their own refilling devices.  What did intrigue me however was the insistence of my waitress.  If I declined a top up she cast an incredulous look and said "Are you sure?".  The first time I just politely declined again and thought nothing of it.  By the third time I was concerned.  Why was this girl so darn worried?  Did I look parched?  Does she think I haven't thought this through? Its not like I'm running a marathon here.  It doesn't take much effort to digest salmon and figure out a way to steal your neighbours dinner chocolate.
My brother James also had an encounter with diligent service.  He and I were attending a cricket game with a few mates and James volunteered to go to the canteen for pies, a job that required a few trips.  Now James is a big fella, and our concerned service lady thought that he had just consumed 9 pies and was coming back for more.  "Don't you think you've had enough?" she volunteered disapprovingly.  "Its not all for me," he protested but I don't think Jenny Craig bought it.
Perhaps the funniest service incidents occur when you try something new.  Renae and I tried Yum Cha with a friend recently and were shocked to see our custard tart divided with a pair of stationery scissors.  Ok then.  If you don't mind can you also cut this thread off my shirt its driving me crazy.
Theory time.  For you budding restaurateurs out there, forget the food.  Well, not completely of course, you need to serve something, but focus on the service.  Make your service people interesting.  Put them in Zippy hats and give them a pair of scissors and you'll never look back.