Damn right…

So, for a vegetarian, I put a ridiculous amount of effort into making sure the meat eaters in the family get the works. I’ve done some pretty adventurous stuff. Pounded out meat, massaged marinade into things; cut, chopped and kneaded; fried, broiled, baked, sautéed and curried…. Stuck three quarters of my arms up a turkey’s behind… And my personal best: peeled and deveined a shrimp (not just the one BTW, kilos of the stuff).

Why? Hmmmm… good question. No one makes me. My family for the most part are super supportive about my choice. Now. Oh don’t get me wrong; they’ve tried to mock the vegetarianism out of me over the years. I’ve been told everything from ‘you’re not saving any animals by going meat-free, we’re just eating your share’; to ‘you’re a shame upon the family name’. All in jest of course; don’t worry I wasn’t ill-treated at a kid or anything. Well, not EXACTTTTLLY ;).

I think one of my biggest mistakes was letting people convince me not to pursue a career in food. For a large part of my career, I enjoyed what I did instead though, I really did, so I forgot what a big deal food was to me. Of course on said career path you come upon some shyte jobs now and again. And you need something you love to get you through. I mean besides booze ;).

So I started to cook. I mean really cook. Not just the cook-because-you-have-to, everyday b*ll*cks. Although to be perfectly honest, I enjoy that too. And then I discovered that people’ll eat anything when they’re hungry; and I had a whole ton of single and foodless friends. So I experimented. Then I had some ‘good cook’ friends. So I competed. And pretty soon the only person I competed with was myself (no I’m not bragging, I just find that no one can push me as hard as I can push myself). And people liked my food as I may have mentioned *blushing bashfully like you brought that up and not me*. And what’s not to like about someone liking something about you :)? Approval has always motivated me, lets be honest.

So today I’ve raised that to a level I don’t want to step away from. I don’t taste any of the stuff of course, so I look closely at people while they taste my food. We’ve discussed previously how most people in my immediate family are much too polite to tell you things like ‘this sucks’. But involuntary expressions don’t lie! So I stalk those. And when I yell at them, they sometimes volunteer some constructive criticism. So overall, I’ve progressed on my experimentation. Because its fun, and it makes me happy, and I’ve learned stuff. And it puts food on the table. Literally.

Am I pleased with myself? Helllzzz yeah. Do I plan to continue it? For sure. And yes of course I do all this on the veggie food as well. Its a particular challenge to me to make veggie mains that rival their meaty counterparts. But lets face it, when you want large-scale approval; you get it for the meat. Expanding the target audience you ask? Damn right!!

Pooper scooper…

Two days late and a title like that? Really, I don’t even need to finish this blog… but I’m going to :p! Tch tch. How else would I get my self-indulgent moments of the week?

Yeah… so today is day 14 of baby with upset stomach. And of course that means the adults in my house (and there’s loads of us now because my folks are visiting) have, well… had a fair bit of cleaning to do. For Princess Poo Poo (and this is a different version than the Pooh Pooh-ing at my food one we talked about last week. Which by the way I’m trying hard not to connect to the upset tummy. Wouldn’t want to be the one that poisoned my kid. Thankfully, since she won’t have anything to do with my food, we can quite happily blame the jars ;). Just kidding, it’s a virus.)

And don’t worry I’m not going into gross detail. I know we’re close and everything, and although I’m happy to talk about colour and texture, I’m pretty sure you’re totally NOT keen. What’s on my mind is more the mood side of things. Most times when an adult has a tummy bug, ‘it’ is like a complete b*tch on wheels all the livelong day. Children apparently have a different modus operandi.  They are FAR too interested in the world and what goes on. Unless they’re severely dehydrated, they keep going!

For the most part of the last 2 weeks therefore people have looked at me oddly when I said the baby was sick. She looked well firstly. And secondly she is an extremely social baby (*clutching wood and refusing to let go*). This means that when she’s around people, she forgets what ails her. They say adrenalin fuels people on. In her case, its curiosity! So with the exception of a couple of the worst days, I took her out and risked even messy public clean ups in an effort to keep her entertained. So daytimes were taken care of largely. THE NIGHTS WERE A DIFFERENT STORY!

*Sigh* long story short, after days and days of it, I pretty much had a meltdown. Thank god for mommies. Mine took over, told me to go to sleep and that she’ll man the monitor and the night wake ups to whatever extent she could and wake me up immediately if there was an issue. Of course the little traitor was on her best behavior these past couple. Just woke up for a feed and an ‘undercarriage change’, as my husband calls it, as necessary! The worst is clearly reserved for me. The screaming for ages and not going back to sleep for 3 hours at night have my name written on them clearly. Too bloody bad she’s already old enough to recognize me ;).

So when I go back on duty, I’m waiting to see how it goes. Hopefully she really is better. And then I can finally spot gold on the crusade for STTN. Don’t know what that is? Rookie… its only the Holy Grail of parenthood! Sleep Through The (Goddamn) Night. Wish me luck people, we could use it!

What’s cooking…

Food is a big deal to me. Love the stuff. Adore cooking. Giant foodie. The works. In the early days of mommy-hood, I actually would cook. People assumed that was because I was trying to kill myself being a good host to the tons of people who visited. Nope. Not in the least. Cooking is just my idea of down time. God knows you need that in the beginning.

More often than not, when you put that much of your soul into something, it tends to be good. And people tend to like ‘good’.

Well normal people.

Not 8 month old, have a mind of their own people!

*Sigh* where do I start?

I’ve had my fair share of compliments (And they make me happy). I might even be slightly complacent about my cooking on occasion. I’ve dreamt about making a living doing that for ages. And I will one day. So when my baby girl was approaching the 5-month mark I got quite excited about the fact that in about a month from then I’d get to give her real food. Not just this nasty smelling formula cr*p (BTW what's with that? Smells awful. Like unpleasant seaweed. I remember when we were young, the formula our younger cousins drank was so yum you could eat it straight out of the can).

Thought up all the yummy, baby friendly things I could cook up. Did loads of research about balancing things. Bought Annabel Karmel (kiddie food guru to you novices). I’d give her tastes from around the world, I said. She’d be a global kiddie foodie I also said; many flavours, just like the city she’s born in.

Yeah… No! She had a different plan apparently. The plan is called spitting. Which, she does with remarkable finesse. Opens her mouth on occasion, takes a spoonful, scrunches her face, puffs up her cheeks and… there it is! All over my shirtfront. All my carefully chosen, lovingly prepared ingredients. This has gone on for months. I’ve tried offering regularly. I’ve tried cutting off for a week and reintroducing. I’ve tried feeding her hungry. I’ve tried feeding her full. Nope. Same drill. Eat a few bites. Then spit!

To add further insult to injury, on occasion, she’ll slurp up a ton of jarred cr*p. Oh well.

I’ve done it all. Various combos. Sweetening things up with fruit. Exotic. Bland. Basic. Carefully carved batons of little finger food for her to hold and try. None of it for Princess Pooh Pooh.

So after an impressive stint of making up batches of exciting things, I’ve given up and brought the offending jars to the party. Just in case you haven’t picked it up by now… that to me is like asking people over and ordering from…. Ummm Pizza Hut. Nothing wrong with it, but just so blah.

Oh well. Having minds of their own is a good thing right?

Yup, that’s what I’m telling myself for now. Until she’s a teen, and we have wardrobe issues I’m guessing. At which point I’ll pull out the my-roof-my-rules card that my mom played so often ;).

Fitness first...

Or is it? Well, it’s never been for me. I’ve been peer pressured into many things over the years, but somehow, never this. At least not with any degree of consistency. I was talking to my friend SM about this the other night. She and I have loads in common. We share a lot of the same tastes and feed off each other for the things that inspire us. With one very notable exception. Yup, fitness. She’s a fitness junkie… and I’m… well… just a junkie – of couch, food and all manner of other fun vice.

So, recently, what a lifetime of experiences couldn’t do, a C-section has. It all started with me taking a long hard look at myself. What I saw did NOT make me happy. I live with my husband and sister both of whom are much too polite too tell me I look like dog poo when I do (bless their little cotton socks). So I pretty much have myself to look to. I felt like everything was wrong from my hair to my feet (no, really, I hadn’t coloured or cut in months, which meant bad shape with ugly greys poking through, and severe dry skin which I cant be a*sed to slather things onto). So, I made me a project plan. I can do this shit, I said, I’ve made near impossible projects happen before. For god’s sake, I worked with a dude who wouldn’t know a decision if it bit him on the bum and I still got stuff done, so I must be good enough to quit bitching and move on.

The plan, therefore, consists of me changing the things I’m not happy with over 6 to 8 months. Do it sensibly and slowly and, most importantly, successfully. Now some of it is easy isn’t it? Sitting in a chair while someone washes your hair or popping a vitamin pill or creaming your toes is just so much easier than sweating it out or trying not to be a pig! But I did start. Stuck to yoga while I was pregnant so I’d be in good shape to create that baby, so I sure as hell can do this.

So, this time, its Pilates. When I signed up they said its probably best because of the surgery to go to a pre and postal class and ease myself in. Weeellllll…. Turned out I was the only ‘postnatal’ (which really, I shouldn’t even qualify for nearly 8 months in) amongst various degrees of bumps. All of whom seemed to be having much less of an issue with the contortions than I was I might add (can I just say that these classes made the kind of yoga I was doing look like chilling by a pool?). Nope, what was even more insulting is the fact that the class was listed on the day as just ‘prenatal’; and as I walk in people smiled indulgently at me (oh, I know that look; its the awwwwww-how-far-along-are-you, can-I-touch-your-belly look. No one said anything, though sometimes I wish they would. Its absolutely divine how you get to tell them you’re not in fact making people, you’re just fat and then watch as they die, slowly, of embarrassment. ;) Love it.)

Possible future indignity notwithstanding, wish me luck people. I even went back for a second class (I was told I could graduate to a few ‘regular people’ classes so that’s where I’m going to be spending most of my Pilates time, lets be honest). Lets hope this lasts! And that I eat less of the 231-calorie milk chocolate/orange cookies. Which in my defense my friend NP only told me about AFTER I’d scarfed nearly 2 down! So that doesn’t count. Right? Right!