Chores …

As you know, love doesn’t count chromosomes – and neither does housework! He may be our special little guy, and only seven, but Freddie still has to muck in on the domestic front; and it may be the weekend, but the lessons don’t stop.
First it was baking class with big sister including, most importantly, how to wash up afterwards. Despite getting excluded from the kitchen twice for throwing flour, under Lucy’s rough and ready tutelage he eventually achieved a batch of delicious, squidgey chocolate brownies (in typical Fender bish-bash-bosh fashion).

     Then there was the aftermath of dinner to be dealt with:

     All the carnage of a food fight, with none of the fun.

     Then it was time to go on pants patrol, and help to put away the clean laundry.

Fancy carrying mummy’s bras like that, Freddie!

     Poor boy – he’ll be glad to go to school tomorrow … for a rest.


4 thoughts on “Chores …

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