Feeding the hoards

Food. The only thing that keeps me sane when it comes to feeding the family is the knowledge that I’m not alone in this battle. You’re with me, aren’t you?

I love vegetables, fruit and things such as hummus, couscous, olives and sun dried tomatoes.

(I also love cake and chocolate but just for now I prefer to take the culinary high road; my love affair with sugar can wait for another day.)

The Man will eat meat, potatoes, rice, pasta etc and claims that a genetic trait prevents him from eating his greens. According to him all Scots have this. Not true – I know at least four who know that lettuce is not just to make the plate look pretty. The Girl is now at the stage where she will at least try new things, although she usually says that she doesn’t like them and would happily default to her favourite of cheese, bread and fruit. The Boy is going through a phase (the mother’s mantra: “it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever.” Let’s talk in ten years) where he looks at his food and says he doesn’t want it. Bribery will usually get him to eat something, but I wouldn’t like to guarantee it. Or discuss what the bribery actually entails.

In order to maintain my sanity I keep a mental list of meals that we’ll all eat and manage a semblance of an enjoyable family mealtime.

Currently that list is:
1) macaroni cheese

It’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever; it’s only a phase, it won’t last forever....

The Fickleness of Youth

The other night I made roast chicken for supper…ok, to be honest, the chicken was supposed to be for lunch but I misjudged the time it would take to cook. Result – a lovely lunch of mashed potatoes, carrots and peas. The chicken finally decided to stop being pink and we carved it a mere 6 hours later than intended. The Girl and The Boy loved it! I have never seen them eat so much meat at one time. Between them they must have polished off around one third of the poor defenceless bird. Wonderful! I thought. We have finally achieved getting the kids to eat a decent amount of protein and images of strong, healthy teenagers emerged in my head. I was so proud of them.
So the next day I made chicken sandwiches for lunch. What could go wrong? Bread and butter is always eaten and they practically demolished the chicken last night. I proudly presented my darlings with lovingly made chicken sandwiches, confident in receiving a dual chorus of “thanks, Mum, this is great!” Foolish, foolish Mummy. The Girl scrunched up her nose and The Boy instantly began picking my symbol of love and affection in to teeny tiny pieces. Every flake of the chicken was removed from the bread and left in discarded piles at the side of the plates.
If you’re looking for me I’ll be huddled in the corner, rocking gently.

Things I have learnt to make

I feel blessed to live next door to a farm and have access to fresh meat, bread and milk that would cost a fortune in the UK. I tell myself this on a daily basis that this makes up for the nearest supermarket being three hours away. There is a local shop which provides the essentials such as sugar and toilet paper, but ready meals are definitely a thing of the past.
My culinary repertoire has been stretched well beyond it’s UK limit and out of necessity now includes moussaka, lemon meringue pie, brownies, pizza (with homemade base and sauce from tomatoes I grew myself - yes I'm smug), yoghurt, cream cheese, butter (although admittedly this was accidental – I whipped the cream when it was too cold and stiff), bread rolls, chutney, marmalade, doughnuts, Danish pastries, ice cream and fudge. Obviously I’m concentrating on making some of the essentials in life!
TV chefs have it easy. I too would be able to look fabulous and be ready to join my guests at my beautifully presented, organic, nutritionally balanced dinner party if I didn’t also have to referee World War Three (courtesy of The Boy), negotiate peace treaties that the UN would be proud of (courtesy of The Girl) and deal with the heat being thirty five degrees in the shade. Sometimes the veneer of sanity wears very thin.

Down came the rain

Now, I'm pretty sure that my kids were born in a country where it rains. A lot. And I'm also fairly certain that they have repeatedly been soggy/wet/drenched (pick a word depending on the season). So you can imagine why I'm a little surprised at their reaction to the rain this year. It's like they've never seen the stuff before. Every heavy shower is 'A Flood' according to The Girl (hmmm, perhaps the story of Noah is having too much influence?) and each (and I do mean each) raindrop is greeted by The Boy's excited "Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy! It's raining!" (this must be said in a Very Important Tone of Voice, as if one is announcing that America will henceforth be getting rid of bonuses to all bankers who earn more than $100,000 per year).

Saturday saw the three of us getting soaked to the skin walking back from a friend's house jumping in puddles and The Girl laughing her head off. Very cute, but I think the novelty will quickly wear off when she's seen it every day for a few years. And I bet she won't be laughing as much when her brother pushes her into a freezing cold Scottish puddle.

Chocolate Wars

I have decided that it’s time to start playing dirty. We have access to the sweet shop once a week and stocks can get a little sparse at times. We get one sweet each per week, but I don’t always eat mine, I save it for when I really NEED chocolate. For a chocolate addict this is no small thing. The Man always eats his on Saturday, he’s such a creature of habit. The problem comes when he gets the chocolate munchies a few days later. His chocolate is long gone. Mine, however, is sitting innocently in the fridge, as tempting as a frosty bottle of water to a man lost in the desert.
It doesn’t take a genius to guess what happens next.
My new ploy is simple. He can’t eat nuts, therefore every single piece of chocolate I buy from now on will have nuts in it. Hazelnuts, almonds, peanuts and walnuts are now my allies in the War Against Chocolate Theft. Even if I never eat the bar having chocolate that he can’t eat will drive him crazy.
And no, I won’t be paying reparations.

The Joy of Shakers

There are a number of things that seem like a good idea at the time, but 10 minutes in to the task you realise you’ve made a huge mistake. This morning the Little Ones and I collected seeds, hundreds and hundreds of seeds. When we got home we raided the ‘Craft Box’ (aka The Depository Of All Empty Containers That Might Come In Useful One Day) for plastic bottles and they have just spent a blissfully peaceful time decorating them. We added the seeds, screwed on the lids and Hey Presto! Shakers! They loved them!
After 30 seconds I have now shut the living room door and barricaded myself in the kitchen on the pretext of cooking lunch. These are not any shakers, these are Super Shakers.
Now where did I leave the paracetamol?

The Battle of the Bees

That’s it, I’ve had enough. Following an invasion of annoyed looking bees I’m getting rid of all of the flowers in the garden and sealing the house more effectively than a nuclear bunker. Call in the troops! Insect spray at the ready! Men with highly toxic chemicals will be welcomed to the fray!
Generally I’m on the side of bees, after all they do make yummy honey, but when a swarm decides to nest in my loft and take turns putting on acrobatic displays in the living room I take umbrage. Actually, it’s not actually the nesting and acrobatics that got to me, although they were a little irritating. It’s more the fact that they decided to do it during The Boy’s afternoon nap (and therefore my peace and quiet), achieved approximately once a week. Some things shall not be tolerated.

Little buzzers.