Fly on the wall time.
Making dinner is either one of two things. The one I don't like is my son being incredibly needy, demanding that I entertain him instead of cooking and getting steadily angrier when I don't placate him. The other is this - I try making whatever it is I'm making and the kids rush in and out of the room injecting short bursts of madness into whatever is oging on. I wish it were calm and easy. Instead there's usually screaming, toys being chucked around and the dog trying to make out with someone. Pervert.
This also shows how I'm not like my weird family. They all like American bacon. Whereas I know that it's a third-rate, pale alternative to the stuff back home. And yet here my daughter practically knocks me over when she realizes what she can smell isn't just her brother (don't ask) - but a dead pig.