2. Consider saying ice cream. But don't say it. That sets a dangerous precedent.
3. Hope against hope, as you walk through the door, that a magical nanny has come down the chimney during your absence and tidied the house, fixed your printer, and made a stout, hearty stew bubbling on the stovetop.
4. Did that happen? No. So now you will have to figure something out all by yourself.
5. First things first. Turn up the music. Loud. And don't go for the logic of Bach, the pretty manners of Mozart. Go for something that will shake the rafters. Go for something that will make your heart pound. Go for something that will make you forget it is late, people are starving, and you have yet to make dinner.
6. Light candles. Which may seem like a contradiction to step 5, but light them anyway. Candlelight always makes the quotidien seem fraught with possibility.
7. Decide upon crêpes. Why crêpes? Because you probably have milk, eggs, flour and butter on hand. Plus your kids will think you're the best mum ever--gratification which may not seem evident on a regular basis and which is therefore not to be taken lightly.
8. Do you need a recipe to make crêpes? That depends on your personality. My main objective, as I see it, is to ensure the blender is filled to a certain level with negligible quantities of milk, eggs, flour, butter, and a pinch of salt. Beyond that, I wash my hands.
9. Besides, I'm too busy dancing. I'm too busy spinning and twirling and leaping around the kitchen to pay attention to the fact I'm making dinner, darling. Why, if I gave that too much thought, I'd probably climb down from my chandelier, curl up in a corner, and go right to sleep.