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Confessions of a working mother: How I put my husband in the frame for murder!

By karen Ireland

I am in the bad books again this week. Being away for half term we didn’t mark the traditional ‘Pancake Tuesday’ last week.

It passed us by in a haze but the boys were affronted on returning home to realise they had missed out — and especially that they had missed out on nanny’s pancakes as she makes ‘the best in the world’ — apparently.

So we decided to do Pancake Sunday at the weekend instead and celebrated with the works — marshmallows, syrup, lemon juice and whipped cream. Of course master of destruction Teo had to be in the middle of the preparation as well as the eating, leaving chaos all over the kitchen as the other two got stuck into their sickly sweet feast.

And speaking of destruction — it has been one of those weeks when monster mum just hasn’t been able to get on top of anything in the house.

I feel like I spent the entire weekend shouting at everything and anything that moved or didn’t move quickly enough. Maybe, though my mood has more to do with the fact that I have given up chocolate for Lent than the state of the house.

Case in point however — every Saturday, Korey and I embark on the mammoth task of tidying the playroom. I, at least, like to be able to see a path through it before starting another week.

However, by Sunday night I can’t even seem to find the school bags as it’s a complete mess again. It drives me to distraction — then for a week I try the ‘shutting the door and forgetting about it’ tack — reminding the boys the room is their responsibility and they need to sort it. Of course they couldn’t care less about the mess and it stays that way until I lose the head and rope poor Korey in a week later. Ahhhhhhhhh.

The good news this week is my husband isn’t a murderer and my eldest son is a great waiter!

I am talking about the Murder Mystery Party which we were invited to at the weekend when Tom was playing one of the suspects.

Jesse managed to wangle himself an invitation, too, along with a group of friends as they offered to be waiters and waitresses for the night. And a great job they did too. Almost 100 people turned up and all were fed and watered very quickly and everyone kept commenting on how well I had trained Jesse.

Trouble is I didn’t recognise this plate-carrying, polite and helpful in the kitchen boy they were referring to. I barely recognised my husband either — who, as Professor Plum, appeared complete with a long-haired, mad grey wig, a white coat, black beard and the funniest sounding voice (which reminded me of the woodpecker in Bagpus) I have ever heard.

I am still finding it hard to take him seriously or the rest of our friends who took on the various guises of Miss Scarlett, Rev Green, Mrs White, etc.

All in it was a great night of fun and I would definitely go to another one. Jesse and I both voted for Tom — sorry Plum — as the assailant, but we were wrong. His only crime was against fashion and his distressing new look.

The ‘whodunnit’ bug has definitely caught on with Cluedo still the game of choice at home — a good distraction for avoiding tidying the playroom or reaching for the chocolate.

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