Archive for evening meal
Dysfunctional is as dysfunctional does over the evening meal
Posted by: | CommentsI always wonder why some say to me “Oh, I don’t watch the Simpsons” and look at me as though I’m the world’s worst mother when I mention my 10 year old has been watching the show since he was about 2 and three-quarters.
Actually, probably earlier, ’cause 8yo has been watching it whilst attached to a boob (he was breastfeeding, ok? We’re not, weird or anything like that!)
I get most miffed when it’s said by someone who refuses to watch it and mentions something about the Simpsonsfamily being so “sdysfunctional”. For me, they’re way more loving and supportive of each other than the family I grew up in.
Still, I do like to think the family I have now are “normal” in their dysfunction.
I like to think it’s not just our family who can start a conversation about a need and want of “oven mits” (oven mit post coming, when I can deal with the trauma!) only to have it, a mere sentence later, include the word “proctologist”, followed shortly thereafter with the words “snatch”, “twat” and “gyneacologist” and conclude with a discussion about whether doctors who deal with penises are actually, professionally, referred to as “cock doctors” or the alternative “cockologists”, having ruled out the word “urologist” as being “far too boring and not involving enough penis”.
It isn’t just us, is it?
And whilst I, every night, have to reinforce the “we will be sitting at the dinner table and eating as a family, and you will like it whether you like it or not!” and then have to demand someone put a CD on (preferably thrash metal, but anything hard-corish will suffice) and turn it up so as not to hear the Sounds Of Eating and mutter things like “It’s like eating with The Simpsons”, I do like to think this is what goes on around everyone’s dinner table.
Although, I have yet to witness and episode of this particular show where jokes like:
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
I’m a puh
I’m a puh who?
HA HA You’re a POO! You said you were a poo, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA You’re a POOOOOOO!
You may have noticed that I live in a house with three boys? And Daddy? “Poo” jokes have kind of lost their lustre.
Of course, no one listens to me, and discussion turns to whether “poo” technically has a “lustre” or not and they’ve totally missed the point that I wasn’t talking about “poo” I was talking about “poo jokes”. And their lack of funniness.
“No, seriously. Poo jokes aren’t funny. I’ve heard too many of them and I just don’t have enough penis to find them funny. I’m sorry, but I don’t. Also, it’s dinner time. Please shut up now.”
“Ha HA!,” pipes up Godzilla, and, in a sing-song voice, finishes up with “Da-ad has lots of pe-enis!”
Causing Grumpy Pants to puff out his chest and me to choke on a strand of spaghetti …
Thankfully, the poo and penis talk ended up something like 23 minutes later and we concluded with even worse jokes …
Knock, knock
Who’s there?
Pineapple “wuh”
Pineapple “wuh” who?
Pineapple WOOOOOOOOO!
Followed by much hysterical laugher …
I don’t get it?!
So I just told them I had work to do and left them to it.
Finding my niche and some cooking tips
Posted by: | CommentsAfter a series of fairly standard Mother Fails; holding the toddler upside down and walking him, face first, into the end of the bed (in my defence, I couldn’t see past his bum and legs, so it his fault, right?), banging his head as I lifted him out of the car, and again, an hour and a half later as I put him back in.
My excuse for the last one was that his eldest brother had just pushed the door open, smacking him in the head, and I was giving him big cuddle and he wriggled and his head got bumped. No, it didn’t get bumped cos I was trying to subdue him. It was an accident!
I felt it best that I put him down for a while, so as to lessen the risk of banging his head. He only managed to succeed in tripping over and mildly grazing his lip and nose, but at least I was nowhere near him at the time.
Godzilla also felt it more apt that he take over his own lunch making as, clearly, I’m not up to that task either. He has been doing a fabulous job, and is very happy with the outcome. Especially as he is now getting more dried apricots in his lunchbox. This only due to the fact that he is cutting them in half (and this morning, into sixteenths) so “there are more in there”.
Last night, given I got “all three for guitar lessons” again, and it was turning-snot-into-icicles type weather, I barely managed to restrain myself from leaving Chippie on the corner where he decided to throw a MASSIVE tantrum of epic proportions. Yes, I’m aware that commonly the terms “massive” and “epic proportions” are not usually considered good gramma, however, in this case it was a MASSIVE tantrum of epic proportions. Not one or the other, but quite litterally the two combined. And then some.
Freezing cold as it was, I managed ot calm myself enough to drag him to the door of the studio and remain outside until he had calmed and not push him under the next tram that came along. It was a feat, but I did it. I don’t know how good I am for the job, though.
I did attempt to make myself feel better, by replicating the dinner I’d made last night, only with rice instead of pasta. Because it was yummy, and also because I “had to use the beef”. Otherwise we’d have to ditch it, which I don’t like to do. Also, if I didn’t use the beef, then the only alternative for ingredients for the evening meal were the peas that had fallen out of the packet and stuck to various parts of the freezer innards, some cream, a small carrot, onion and garlic.
The other ingredients to go with the beef and all I needed. So I commenced cooking, reached for the cream and was mildly surprised that we had none.
It also sent me into a tail spin, because although I can make up a recipe and create a meal, I lack the necessary brain capacity to change it part way through.
Which leaves me offering these very important cooking tips for you:
Tip 1
Always make sure you have ALL the ingredients for the meal BEFORE you start cooking.
Tip 2
Be married to a chef, or have one as a very good friend or one you can call on any time.
Tip 3
Do NOT hang up on them they reply to your “So, I started cooking that thing I did last night and realise we have no cream, what can I do?” and they piss themselves laughing at you. For around five minutes. Or more.
It’s not personal. Well, actually it is. But if you hang up, you’ll never get the answer you need.
For more fabulous cooking tips, don’t read this blog, you won’t get any here.
Just like magic
Posted by: | CommentsMy morning disclosed the extent of yesterday’s website breakage disasater; essentially everything I did was gone.
Gone.
Until I found most of it hiding. Progress was had and I was feeling somewhat happy and smiley and productive as I took the offspring to swimming lessons.
Chippie appears to be recovering from the episode a few weeks back, where he fell into the pool and sunk to the bottom whilst performing the only safe entry I have ever seen him willingly attempt at a time he was asked to perform it. He is now beyond where he left off and is now entering crazy, no-fear stage. Which is always good for getting the heart rate up.
That is what you need for exercise, right? Increased heart rate? It’ll decrease the size of my bum, yes?
One can only hope.
Arrive home wiht relatively happy children. Possibly because they provided me no cause to yell at them, therefore they were not yelled at. Therefore, everyone happy.
Turn the oven on at the fuse box, pour wine, turn oven on and set about getting the incredibly complex meal of frozen fish and chips, accompanied by steamed dim sims, together.
Faff about for a bit whilst the oven heats up, feeling productive and like I can acheive anything. Well, that may be taking it a bit far. Maybe acheive a shower sometime before 8.00pm and a bit of work done. Way more than usual, at any rate.
And just like that, like a magician – clearly one with an evil sense of humour – my plans for the evening meal, and why stop there, my entire evening, vanished before my eyes with a barely audible, and rather understated “poof” a teensy puff of smoke and the oven keeled over and died right before my eyes.
Damn it.
Of course, by now much wine had been attended to, and I had a horrible moment when I thought the remaining 3/4 of a glass had also vanished.
Phew. It turns out my brain was overcome by the now need to completly rethink the evening meal.
Things were still, just, going my way. My wine reappeared and there was one packet of pasta in the cupboard.
The only thing that could usurp fish and chips for dinner in my house is pasta.
Phew.
Food Review: Baked Rigatoni
Posted by: | CommentsContinued … from yesterday – the main course (ahem, except not in the same sitting – that would require organisation)
As mentioned in yesterday’s review, Coles are of the misguided belief that I can cook. Possibly because I’m always going on about food.
Really, I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. I can cook. I’m just not a masterchef, nor do I have the patience for things that require garnishes etc. So, yeah, there’s cooking and there’s cooking and I wander this wobbly line that is oft overlooked by the creators of recipe books and cooking TV shows. Also, there’s a mistaken belief that because I do actually cook most nights for the family I must therefore be one of “those” mums. Far from it.
I digress (although it is a rant I may very well have at some stage, if that’s ok with everyone?). The fabulous Coles provided me with the ingredients and instructions for a Baked Rigatoni with tomato and Sopressa Salami.
This made my 10 year old very happy indeed.
Also, it was a bit of a change from my standard pasta bake, which is really just a version of my very own spaghetti bolognaise (a standard, three times a week minimum fare when my brain is fried) whereby I use some sort of short pasta, like penne or spirals or something less messy than spaghetti, put it in a dish, smother it in cheese and stuff it in the oven for twenty minutes or until I cannot stand any longer the “is dinner nearly ready” and I pull it out and serve it up before the cheese has even melted through.
This is the second time I’ve done this recipe, so it was slightly easier this time, cos I knew it. Also, given basketball training was tonight, it was a good one for pre-preparing (aka procrastination over tidying my office) and putting in the oven for twenty minutes when I got home. Which is why I chose this recipe for tonight
The former aerobics instructor/personal trainer in me struggled a little with this recipe, as it always does with the amount of oil many chef’s suggest is used in cooking various dishes. It is a bone of contention in our house whenever hubby cooks a meal. I don’t believe as much that is suggested is needed. He will argue, in his professional opinion, and with the training and experience he has, that, yes, it does.
I concede that the background and purpose of these two different roles is the cause of this argument, as is the outcome of each of these professions. I want people to be healthy and eat well, he wants the food to look and taste fabulous.
So, when I cook, the oil is cut right back. I also use non-stick pots and pans for the most part, so oil isn’t always necessary.
In this case, the salami needed cooking. I did use oil the first time and was repulsed (its a personal thing! I’m not casting judgement or saying its wrong or anything – I know some people love it and that’s ok!) by the amount of oil/fat in the pan. Second time, I didn’t use oil; non-stick pot, so all was good
The other thing with this particular recipe is that it requires cookage of the salami, removing it from the pan, then cooking the rest of the sauce. I prefer quicker, easier and the fewer the pots, plates and utensils used, the better. It wasn’t “hard”, I’m just more half arsed than that.
I do also use a pan where you can cook the sauce, add the pasta, mix it all around add the cheese and stick it in the oven. There’s a reason I got that sort of pan. But it’s not essential that you have one, by any means.
Aside from the cook one thing, take it out, cook more stuff, it was pretty easy. Something well within my capabilities. I also imagine, although I haven’t tried it cos I thought I’d give it a proper go, that you could use tinned tomato in the recipe. Not sure wha the final outcome would be, but if you were in a hurry, it’s doable. I’m sure.
Says me who likes to make up stuff, including meals, and really has no clue until they are served and eaten. Or not.
This one also called for the inclusion of a bay leaf (I’m always forgetting to add these. Wish I would remember), and fresh basil and thyme. I don’t usually do the fresh herb thing, mostly because I’ve killed the ones we have growing in the back yard, or they’ve turned to a sodden mush in the vegie crisper in the fridge.
I’m SO glad that I threw them in this one. They do make all the difference.
Note to self: Remember to utilise the fresh herbs we now have
It is one of those meals that I like, in terms of cooking, because you have one pot for the pasta going whilst the sauce is cooking itself in another, and the two finish at exactly the same time. Perfection! Love it.
Mix the pasta and the sauce, and pour it into a baking dish (or, in my case, tip the drained pasta into the pan I cooked the sauce in, and mix it in there), add the cheese, and place it in the oven.
The remove when the cheese is nice and crispy on top.

Then serve it up and eat it.
Despite my misgivings about the amount of fat in the dish (better second time around) and my habitual misgivings about me trying new stuff, this dish was Delicious!
Really, honestly scrumptious.
Kids loved it. I loved it. I think, but I’m not sure, that Grumpy may have heard about how fabulous it was, because he wasn’t home either time I cooked it and it was vaccuumed up before he was even aware he’d missed out.
Please don’t let my somewhat inadequate photography deter you from this experience.
Oh, and this one, like the ministrone soup one, is a feed the family of four for under$10 recipe.
Again, created by Curtis Stone and the info, recipe and cost breakdown can be found at www.coles.com.au
Disclaimer: Again, still not paid for these reviews. Still need a set of oven mits that I asked for for Mother’s Day and didn’t get. Nearly bought myself some, but they had Masterchef on them, and that would just be a big fat lie and cause my family to laugh and poke fun at me. Coles did send me the recipe and ingredients so I may adequately (pahahahaha) prepare this dish.
It’s win-win really. Or lose-lose if you’re the kid in question
Posted by: | CommentsAfter a somewhat throbby headachey and bad newsy, stressful day, I managed to wrangle myself a massage.
I even managed to come home to an empty house, put the dinner on and have a shower – uninterrupted! Well, except for the blue rubber ball, with the – courtesy of Gozilla – smiley face drawn on it, staring up at me from the bottom of the shower – courtesy of Chippie – where it has been resting for several days now. I was mixed; on the one hand it was a little unnerving, having a blue ball staring up my whatsit, but on the other hand, somewhat comforting. I’m unused to showering on my own. So it just helped to ease the weirdness.
Showered and pyjamaed, the troops arrive home. Godzilla bursts in, claiming starvation then informing me he didn’t do his swimming lesson because he “was sick”.
Hrm. Spritely, yet “too sick to do swimming lessons”, hey? I can fix this.
“Oh dear. Well, we’re having burittos but as you are “too sick” I don’t think its a good idea that you eat them.”
And more of the story emerges. He was fine at school, then sick at swimming, and now ok again. The bit of the story that didn’t emerge was the bit that goes “I, for some reason that I refuse to explain to you, didn’t want to/couldn’t do my swimming lessons, but I’m actually not sick. I’m just having you on.” etc etc blah blah
(I don’t know about you, but I abhor this behaviour in anyone)
He did try the tears, but when I’m seriously pissed off, that doesn’t work either. See, I can also do the “well, actually, you tricked me/lied/am trying to put one over me, so, therefore, you can miss out on dinner, cos I don’t like that behaviour”
So, it’s win-win, really. You’re sick, you can’t eat what we’re having, cos I don’t want you throwing up on the middle of the night. You misbehave, you miss out. Oh, but you can make yourself some Vegemite on toast; don’t want anything too rich that might make you spew. But you’re not going to get away with unacceptable behaviour.
See, win-win.
Oh, except, of course, if you’re the one who was sick, then not, especially when you saw your favourite dinner. Then, it kinda sucks. Really sucks.
Meh.
Still, given the way things have panned out this evening, I wouldn’t put it past the Grand Master Of All Things to have me up all night tonight (again, did that last night with the Chipster) with a vomitting Godzilla. Just to pay me back.
Although, I am hoping that my having pre-empted such a Being with this thought that it’ll now no longer happen.
Right?
And back to normal routine
Posted by: | CommentsWith guests gone, it’s all back to normal in the house.
We’re all completely exhausted and “stuff” is back in our lives. A trip to the local craft markets with a friend, accompanied by Chippie (standard) and Monkey Boy, who spent the entire trip there talking about how he was going to buy us all small pancakes and all kinds of lovely foody things, then finds a book he wants, buys that, swindles some dollars out of my friend to pay the difference and our nice foody things are all forgotten about.
Home we go, everyone tired, Grumpy puts Chippie to sleep and we have some quiet time. During which time, Godzilla decides he needs a password for his Mii (on the Wii) because, obviously the fitness levels, height and weight of a 6 year old are highly confidential and can’t be accessed by any other member of the family.
(Who can’t touch the bloody thing when he’s there anyway, because he won’t get off it!)
Unfortunately, he doesn’t quite have the sensibilities of his older sibling, whom came up with a relevant and easy to remember password, thought of a random combination of letters he liked at the time, didn’t write then anywhere and promptly forgot them.
Attempts by all family members to decipher the code (“it was something something one one”, “I don’t think it had ‘one one’ at the end”, ”I think it was something something one one” etc) where fruitless, and the Wii asked us to verify the user by entering his height.
Which is fine, except that this data was entered, we think, Christmas 2008. Given he has deleted several users, possibly his own, fiddled around with settings, colours and look, and added many, many other users, and has subsequently been banned from going into that part of the program, we have absolutely no idea what weight it is he entered.
We think it could be anywhere between1 and 2 metres.
Frankly, I have better things to do than attempt to work through every 4 number combination possible on the number pad, or guess the height of an imaginative 6 year old boy.
I make dinner instead; a lovely roast beef dinner, vegies, gravy, the works.
Godzilla refused the pumpkin (as he does) and added tomato sauce to the roast potato, Monkey Boy ate most of his and Godzilla’s cauliflower, but only the bits with cheese on them, and Chippie put each bit into his mouth, said “yuk” and placed it back on the plate, dropped it onto the floor or threw it across the table (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA)
He then helped himself to a slice of bread and some floor sweepings for his main meal, replaced a small piece of semi-masticated bread back into the bag (thank goodness for the need to make school lunches tomorrow!) and appeared satisfied with his dinner.
Grumpy on the other hand consumed all remaining food items, depriving me of a potential scrumptious lunch that could have consisted of something other than Vegemite sandwiches.
Who said getting kids to eat was hard?
Posted by: | CommentsA lovely family day out, visiting museums and feeding the seagulls in the park all the good biscuits and leaving us with cheese sandwiches to eat.
We caught some trams (yes, thank you all those lovely, courteous people who pushed past my hubby with the pram, and pushed my 6 and 9 year olds out of the way so you wouldn’t miss the tram – despite us having been there well before you were. And to those who pushed past us when we were attempting to lift the stroller, laden with baby, onto the tram. Much appreciated!), wandered around and looked at things and had a lovely day.
A few minor incidents of whinging and complaining and asking repeatedly if they can watch a Star Wars DVD tonight, and some not listening when we asked them to do things (but very minor, I was impressed) and lots more non-stop asking if they can watch a Star Wars DVD when we get home. Grumpy, finally had it with the non-ceasing requests, eventually makes a request of his own. Actually, I lie – he gets so pent up, he totally bypasses the “Please stop now” request and just goes for the throat.
“If anyone mentions Star Wars or does any Star Wars noises or actions or Lightsabre fighting or anything the DVD will not go on tonight!”
I saw my opportunity and seized it with both hands, and started having Lightsabre fights as we’re walking up Collins Street and repeating whatever gibberish I can remember from the movie as loudly as possible. Monkey Boy turns and looks at me – the “You’re such an idiot” look and I yell “WOO HOOOOOO! No Star Wars DVD tonight, coz someone did Star Wars stuff! In your face, I WIN! So, ner!” With my arms in the air, of course. Lots of big arm action going on.
Got home, all of us exhausted, and Grumpy cooked up a deliciously scrumptious meal of tuna (that he’d caught himself) with a “mango guacamole” – a recipe he’d caught on TV. Unusual for him, but who was I to argue. Although I would have called the “guacamole” more of a salsa.
Not enough tuna, so he pulled out some frozen crumbed fish we had, and the kids got that. He has his priorities right! Godzilla – lover of fruit and salads - was determined he would not eat the guacamole/salsa, consisting of mango (yum!), avocado, tomato and cucumber (and some other yummy things, but mainly those ingredients), all foods which he loves!
Meh. Do I look like I care? Couple of things to remember here:
- I’m not a restaurant (nor is Grumpy);
- You always get a choice – take it or leave it!;
- I’m not the one whose going to go to bed hungry;
- You don’t wanna eat it, great – more for me!;
- I’m sure there’s something else profound here, but can’t remember what it is at the moment
That taken as given, he ate his fish. Well, half of it. The other half had … disaster of all disasters! Touched the salad!
The intro to teary tantrum commenced, and, not being arsed enough to get up or to deal with a tanty, I fixed the problem.
I picked the fish up and licked the salad off it.
(It was yum, too!)
Monkey Boy, in a desperate bid to aid the dilemma, by which I actually mean “continue to be a smartarse little shit” informs Godzilla “Euwww! Now it has Mummy germs on it! Euwww!”
“Eeuuuwwww, ” says Godzilla. “I’m not eating that!”
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” says Chippie and throws a partially masticated piece of mango across the table. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Oh, for fu …,” I lament. “It’s just Mummy spit. Sheesh. Look, here, it’s just like one of Mummy’s kisses,” and I pick the fish up, from whence it had landed, back in the salad, licked it off again, then kissed it. Then licked Godzilla’s face under pretense of kissing him. “Now eat your damn fish!”
So he ate his fish. And, because he’d been sitting in front of a plate with a pile of salad on it for long enough, he then ate the salad, too.
My work here is done.
Well that was lucky
Posted by: | CommentsTanties from 6year old escalated to point of near death and he was sent to his room (again) and reminded (again) that he was missing dinner due to his behaviour.
He was entitled to an apple and a peanut butter sandwich, to be eaten as far away as possible from me, preferably somewhere in China. The stairs would have to do.
Think he finally got the message and I pulled out leftovers from the fridge, only to discover that Grumpy “No, I’m good, I’ll eat at work” had eaten leftovers when he got home from work last night, leaving us with bugger all.
Good thing we were one down at dinner service, otherwise there wouldn’t be enough to go around.
A horrible afternoon. Thank goodness for Good Samaratinism
Posted by: | CommentsAn extremely productive and fun day, including Chippie actually sleeping during the day, and got a good chunk of work done. I even ate lunch. And managed a shower.
Pick the kids up from school, where it got chilly and excessively windy and threatened rain. I watch the clouds get blacker and blacker as I stood there, yelling for the older two to hurry up and get organised so we could get home before it rained, then listened to them complain for the last 10 minutes of the walk home about how they hate walking home in the rain.
The fact that I spent 10 minutes telling them to hurry up and that we would have been home 10 minutes earlier and before the rain hit is completely lost on them.
Godzilla decided to lose it totally and cry at anything and everything. Particularly the bits where he said he was tired so we told him to go lie in bed and he got very upset and insisted he Wasn’t TIRED! Yeah, that’ll prove it. Monkey Boy spent most of this time doing everything possible to annoy him. Some payback, I suspect, for the fact that Godzilla spent most of walking home annoying Monkey Boy, who was most upset because he was told he couldn’t got to a friends house tomorrow night. Due to his behaviour. Of only minutes before when he was doing everything possible to annoy Godzilla and make him cry … and so on and so forth.
I eventually, officially have enough and tell Godzilla to stop crying or go to his room. He chose the latter and was asleep within minutes. Grumpy prepared and served dinner, putting Godzilla’s aside for if and when he woke.
7 minutes after the meal is complete, we find Monkey Boy eating a chicken mini-drumstick. Recall was that the only ones remaining were on Godzilla’s plate. Despite this, Grumpy enquired of him “Where did you get that? Did you take that off your brother’s plate?!” grumpily.
“Nah. I found it lying around. It was just lying around on his plate, so I took it.”
Smart arse.
Bath and then time for guitar lessons (a new thing because I had a night midweek free, so thought I’d better fill it with something) (that was sarcasm, people) and Monkey Boy couldn’t resist but queitly get his guitar. Oh, and would you look at that, Godzilla is awake.
Walking home, in the rain – of course – and I wonder loudly how Godzilla is. “He was awake when we left,” I was informed.
“Yeah, well I hope he has enough dinner to eat.”
“It’s ok,” Monkey Boy assures me. “I saved him the trouble of having to eat.” Then runs off ahead, rings the doorbell, hides and jumps out yelling very loudly at Godzilla, who screams, equally loudly, followed immediatley by a sleeping Chippie screaming, just as loudly, and Godzilla opening the door, smaking Monkey Boy in the head with the door, who then screams. Very loudly. Setting Chippie off again. Very, very loudly.
Ah, it’s so nice to be home …

