If I ever leave home it will be at dinner time

If I ever leave home it will be at dinner time

pexels-photo-70497.jpegI had a bit of a meltdown at dinner today.

You see, dinnertime in our house happens to be the hardest thing in the world.

Now I’m not saying I have twins, or toddlers, or I’m even trying to breastfeed whilst chopping tomatoes and answer my mobile with my teeth or anything. No. My children are big. Big enough. But for some stupid reason, and I only have myself to blame, no one eats the same as anyone else.

So here’s the thing. I have one vegan, two gluten-free eaters, one person who only likes his food cool, not hot, *rolls eyes*. Two that don’t eat veg. Like at all. Well, tomato puree on pizza and sweetcorn. My kids will die of malnutrition one day soon.

I have one child that turns up when asked, and one that doesn’t.

One that cooks amazing vegan vegetable loving healthy dinners, and one that thinks pizza actually counts as one of your five-a-day.

I have one child that can’t eat their dinner unless they have another, completely unconnected food item to go along with it! Jesus, Mary and Joseph I know! I mean, like I’ve just served up the culinary equal to the Mona Lisa, and they have to eat it with Dairy-Lea and cool cheese nachos!!!

I actually only have three children, but they all fall into multiple categories so it just feels like a rugby team.

Every single dinner I produce has to have alternatives. I’m like the entire counter staff at Subway.

I stand at my cooker, and they arrive, in dribs and drabs, lined up with a plate, and I ask them what they want to eat.

Now remember it’s already cooked.


And d’you know what they say???

Yup. ‘Well what can I have?’

IT’s in front of you. RIGHT THERE.

Every meal has to have the gluten-free version.

And the vegan version.

And the f***ing meat version.

For dinner tonight we had a completely crap chicken curry that I tried to make with a block of coconut cream because we had no coconut milk. And a risotto. Separate of course, cooked using coconut oil of course. With sweetcorn. For nutritional balance. Nutritional balance my arse.  Six kernals of tinned sweetcorn are not going to make a dent in that nutrional carb heavy dish!

And do you know what? The hubby came home and said…’I thought we were having burgers for tea.’

Burgers??? I’ll give him burgers!




Living a nutritionally unbalanced life – day by day

Living a nutritionally unbalanced life – day by day

I’m in my late 40’swoman-morning-bathrobe-bathroom.jpg

I’ll not tell you exactly of course, because a woman never tells. But, if I tell you that I spend more time trying to chase those really annoying chin hairs that sprout as if by magic, you’ll know where I’m heading.

Oh god yes, the menopause years!

I mean, why did God do this to us? Like we’ve spent the last 20 -30 years having to cope with monthly bleeding, cramps, PMS, bloating, chocolate feeding frenzies, mad crying sessions and all the rest. Now, I can almost see the end of periods, and it’s like wtf?

That man up there has decided we are not going to get away with it. No way.

Just when we think we’ve been let off the hook, he sends us frigging chin hairs that grow like a marathon man, night sweats and more bloating and frigging more stuff besides.


Like why???? Haven’t we suffered enough.

My worst, aside from chin hairs, has to be brain fog.


Let me tell you this is ten times worse than baby brain.

When I had baby brain, the worst thing I did was drive off (twice) leaving my front door unlocked. Not even just un-locked, but not even closed. Like lying-wide-open-because-I-hadn’t-even-been-back-to-shut-it-wide open. That was after baby No.2

I did it twice!!!

I had been so busy getting new baby and toddler out of the car to leave the house in order to get some sanity saving parent and toddler group time, that as soon as I strapped the second child in I just drove off. Never even went to check the house or anything. But please don’t tell my husband.

And don’t judge. You don’t know what’s around the corner.


Now though, I have brain fog, which has just slipped in over the past year. It has reduced me to a woman who lives for the moment because she can’t remember what’s happening later on, tomorrow, next week, month or year. I can remember what I had for breakfast, but don’t ask me what I’m having for tea because I just can’t think.

Did I even leave anything to defrost anyway?

My friend and I recently sat and discussed the train that travels between England and France.

Yes, that one. That euro tunnel thingy. Neither of us could actually remember the proper name for it. Neither of us. Shocking isn’t it!

The name of an object slips from my brain only milliseconds from when I mentioned it last.

Peas. The word I couldn’t remember was peas.

I mean, why are we afflicted so?

And after all that, when I didn’t remember to defrost anything for tea, or remember the name of a vegetable I have eaten a million times before you want me to cook yet another bloody dinner with a superb nutritionally balanced content that would grace my Instagram feed? Bollocks.

They got white rice and chicken curry and not a green veg in sight. And they should be grateful.

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton