Kitchen chaos

Melissa: “Martin, what time will you be home?”

Me: “I don’t know… about half six. Why?”

Melissa: “Harry is emptying the spice rack into a saucepan. There’s Chinese five spice everywhere. Oh dear, now he’s got a whisk and icing sugar. Harry stop that now. Are you sure you can’t be home any earlier?”

Me: “Erm I’ll try to leave as soon as possible, but it won’t much before half six. What do you mean there’s five spice everywhere. What’s going on?”

Melissa: “Just hurry up.” Phone line goes dead.

This is the conversation I had with Melissa earlier this week while sitting on the Leader’s newsdesk surrounded by bemused colleagues. To be honest, I was a bit bemused too – and a little bit worried about what I might find when I got home.

As it turns out, by the time I got home order had been restored and Melissa had somehow managed to clean the kitchen. It turns out that as a reward for being such a good boy, Melissa had promised to help Harry bake a cake.

Unfortunately, I had done the shopping last weekend and had forgotten to buy eggs so the cake-making was off the agenda. Harry – who certainly fancies himself as a cook – was not to be deterred. He had emptied whatever he could get his hands on into a saucepan and proceeded to whisk away in a cloud of icing sugar and spices.

Melissa looked worn out – the episode had obviously been stressful. All things considered, I was grateful to have been in work. It reinforces my view that going to work is the easy end of the deal; looking after a two-and-a-half-year-old trumps being a journalist every time.

Clarification

Melissa has asked (told would perhaps be a more accurate description) me to clarify my previous entry about bathroom cleaning.

She believes it makes it sound like we have a "disgusting, dirty" bathroom. We don't. Even when I clean it.

So here goes with the apology:

I have been asked to point out that the article entitled 'You try to help...' was in no way meant to imply that Mrs Wright's bathroom was anything other than spotless at all times. Any impression to the contrary was entirely unintentional.

Now can I come out of the spare room?

You try to help...

I like to think of myself as a modern kind of husband, willing to share the burden of running a house evenly with Melissa. I don't mind cooking tea if I'm home first, I don't mind doing the shopping if Melissa happens to be working on a Saturday, I don't mind cleaning and I will, if I'm pushed, even do the ironing.

Most people I speak to seem to think this is a good thing. However, for Melissa things aren't quite that straightforward. When I do the ironing, I never put things away 'in the right place'; when I do the cooking, it's never what she fancies; and if I do the shopping, I don't buy enough yogurts.

My one trump card has always been the cleaning. It's always been the one area I was beyond reproach... until Sunday.

In an effort to get all the rubbish jobs out of the way on Sunday morning, I grabbed the cleaner and proceeded to give the bathroom a good going over. Having completed this not-particularly-pleasant-for-a-Sunday task, I proceeded to inform Melissa, thinking she would be pleased.

How wrong I was. She immediately walked into the bathroom and began scrutinising the towel radiator. When I asked her what she was doing, she replied that she was checking to see if I'd cleaned properly.

So now not even my cleaning is up to scratch. Perhaps I should take the advice of a good friend of mine who, when asked how he got away without doing any housework, explained: "I did it once, very, very badly, and have not been asked since. Whenever I offer to help, I'm always told to stick to doing what I do best - sitting in front of the TV." Nice work if you can get it.