Hello! I am back. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.
BB - 1.37
GM - 6.45 of emergency credit (can't be arsed to go to the shop - I am LOVING the emergency credit system)
WW - too many to count after a child's birthday breakfast (with cake) and a meal out last night
EAH - 0
I am a little hungover today so you must forgive any glaring grammatical errors. Ted is asleep and G is enjoying the educational benefits of Big Cook and Little Cook in the playroom so I don't have long and my hungover brain does not work well at speed. I hasten to add that I am not a big drinker - I certainly do not do it every day - hence the hangover. Since the third child arrived I am totally unable to consume more than a few units before being totally 'under the influence'. Sister with four children assured me it would happen and I obviously assumed she was being ridiculous, but here I am, the morning after four glasses of wine and I am nursing a sizeable hangover. The cummulative effects of six and a half years of sleep deprivation combined with almost total abstinence for weeks on end (too many points for wibblies, can't afford it and I fall asleep after two glasses) means that I am no longer able to hold my drink. Plus the miniscule portions served up at lightning speed last night meant that there was no bread or indeed much of anything else to soak up the alcohol, leaving it to wander freely around my system.
I feel I ought to write about food. I did a quick surf of other very popular blogs and they all seem to feature beautiful pictures and an awful lot of writing about food. It would seem that there are an awful lot of 'food porn' readers out there. It does pose something of a problem for me though, as I am not a naturally brilliant cook. It is annoying as it is something I would have loved to have inherited from my mother (along with her height and inability to feel pain) but instead I got her big feet, love of eating, conservative attitude and big mouth (not literally Angelina style, I mean vocally - she has an opinion on EVERYTHING). I do have limited success with some casseroles, spaghetti bolognese, risotto and a good roast although production of an edible yorkshire pudding still eludes me. Earlier in the week I decided to be terribly grown up and use the kumquats that had been delivered to me via my organic fruit bag (we get one a week through Bea's school). I loftily defrosted a pork tenderloin mum had given me (I never really buy meat - I'm not really sure what I'm looking for and the meat aisle is freezing so I grab the lamb mince for spag bol and bolt), chopped up various veg of which K approves (the man eats very little of anything containing vitamins so he is quite tricky to cook for) and ordered him to go to the shop and purchase a can of cider. Five hours later and the kumquat, white lightning, pork and winter veg 'surprise' was ready for the taste test. I felt terribly grown up and like a younger, prettier and bubblier Delia Smith. K was thrilled to have an evening meal cooked for him (another important thing to put on my 'to do' list before I can qualify as a true 'grown up' is to cook regularly for K) and he valiantly cleared his plate. In the excitement I got myself a small portion and realised he had in fact been excessively kind or starving hungry, as miserably it tasted like runny marmalade with pork. I had, in my naieve exuberance, added every single one of the twenty or so kumquats and they had rather overpowered everything else. I didn't even get a 'whoosh' of white lightning. K was sick the following morning, I have tried not to take it personally. He has also asked me to remove the bowl of leftover casserole from the fridge. I have refused.
It did get me thinking though, whilst I was chopping up my winter veg and being a general domestic goddess, that cooking and childcare are basically the same. They are both experiments. I am not a big fan of recipes as I never seem to have the right ingredients or equipment needed so I tend to make it up as I go with what I have got and the same goes for raising the children. I am really not a fan of 'parenting guides' or self help books telling you how to bring up your children and am much happier conducting my own experiment and not someone else's idea of how to create the perfect child. In fact I have yet to meet a perfect adult so I have long given up on trying to rasie my children 'perfectly'. Even if I did manage this Herculean feat it would set them apart from the rest of the human race and therefore make them a target for ridicule, scorn and bullying.
I think there is far too much pressure on women to be the 'perfect' mother these days anyway. Quite frankly life is too long to try and be perfect every single flipping day. I really don't see the point. I don't hand crush organic home grown veg into pulp to wean my babies on to solid food, I buy jars or pouches or mash up a non organic banana. I let them watch far too much TV because I don't for one minute think their eyes will go square or their brains turn to mush. I often talk on the phone or look at facebook and totally ignore them without guilt and I quite often tell them they can't make a mess because quite frankly I can't be arsed to clear up after them. I am perfectly happy to be imperfect - in fact - it is quite a relief.
Bum, Ted is now awake so I must away and shove him in front of the telly with G. My hangover is getting worse and I need a cup of tea and a biscuit. Ouch.