Compliments on my parenting skills, from two police officers

Well, if I was going to meet our local police as a result of one of our children’s actions, I always thought it would be the smallest son with ADHD after he had set light to something like a residential block of accommodation, as a teenager. I did not anticipate the eldest daughter calling the police after an epic tantrum because she felt so unfairly treated by a clearly evil mother. There’s a difference between blogging and airing your dirty laundry in public, so I will spare you the details. Suffice it to say that the police officer who turned up in response to our daughter’s call, saw things a little differently to the tweenager. After a full and frank explanation of events, my parenting skills were commended and date of birth details taken for the whole household. I should have asked why dates of birth were so key. Perhaps they have a database of juvenile detention beds available and they have to book them a long time in advance. To be honest I think both the information and explanation were entirely redundant. If you’re going to receive an impromptu visit from the local police at your child’s request, I think it’s useful coincidentally, to have the components of this salad on your kitchen table.

salad

Nothing says “no child abuse here” better, than a lime dressed bulgar wheat salad with chicken, peaches and feta cheese, garnished with toasted pecans.

Actually typing that out in full, there are many children that would consider this kind of food child abuse, but again, the police received a different impression. Granted, on the modern day obsession of food intolerances, both wheat and dairy, I am failing miserably as a parent. Equally, it’s not scoring highly with vegetarians and possibly celebrity chef inspired chicken welfare groups.

Forgive me my vegetarian/vegan friends and family. All five of you are highly talented, successful, lovely people. However, until someone proves the data in the graph below, I’m serving my kids chicken, even if my youngest son calmly stabs it with a fork and announces “cold chicken’s not really my thing, can I microwave this?”

data

Eldest daughter is now doing her best to behave and I am seriously considering giving up on attending the parenting classes and teaching them instead.

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