Category Archives: Food

The Tale of Bad Behaviour


Our oldest used to alert us to her deviant behaviour by saying, “Don’t look at me”. Sometimes she’d be caught doing something that she shouldn’t and before I could say anything she would say, “Too late. It’s already done”. As though she were saying – Look, Mom, you might as well not say “don’t do such and so”, I have already done it; let’s just move on to being friends again.

She’s either in training to be the worst criminal ever (“911? Are there any patrol cars near such-and-such address? I’m about to rob a liquor store”), or she’s developing a conscience.

One day after Halloween she’d reached her paltry limit of daily candy rations and was refused more. Shortly thereafter she asked me for the scissors so she could cut something (she has shown responsible scissor use since this previous incident) — but told me that I couldn’t know what she was doing. Only her sister could. I found her scissors and was going to let her be — assuming she was making her wonderful mother a wonderful card, but my mother-radar must have kicked in and I went into her room to investigateScissors. She had a small package of 2 Starburst that she was attempting to open, and another one hidden under the pillow she was sitting on. Clearly her level of subterfuge is advancing (she was in another room, the package for her sister was hidden beneath her), however, she still has more learning if her criminal career is to amount to anything. Telling a mother that you are doing something that she ‘can’t know about’ is a red-flag, and, c’mon, at least close the door – or better yet, find a more discrete hiding place.

In her defence, she felt very miserable when her bad deeds were exposed, and she was sharing with her sister (you know, honour among thieves).


The Tale of the Best Seat in the House


When small children have come to roost in your home you long for the days when your level of confidence in getting a full, undisturbed night’s sleep becomes much greater, nigh unto cockiness. I’m actually surprised that those who don’t sleep with one ear tuned for the little slap of footie-jammies hitting the hallway floor don’t actually walk with an arrogant swagger. I think I will struggle to not walk up to stroller pushing, caffeine slugging, bleary-eyed parents of young children and say “HA! Eight hours last night! In your face!”

But I knew about this one. I may not have fully understood the depths of sleep deprivation the human mind and body can withstand over the years. But when you are sporting that baby bump you might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says “Please tell me to ‘sleep now while I can’ or other such tired comments about the sleep deprivation I am about to face”. (This may seem a little long for a t-shirt, but just think about the expanded real estate the pregnant belly provides a t-shirt — you could probably fit that message AND the due date, whether or not you know the gender and/or are sharing that, and your thoughts on home birth just to avoid having other conversations over and over and over again).


Image source:

What I WASN’T informed about is the longing I have for getting through a meal — ANY meal — without a toddler planted in my lap mooching food from my plate. The little one finishes her meal and then crawls up into my lap to help me finish mine. Every. Single. Time. I share my cereal, sandwiches, salads, burgers — everything. And as it is a biological imperative to feed one’s child I indulge her. But, trust me, the moment she finishes her meal and then hops down to play, I will finish my very own meal with dramatic flourish and then do a happy dance (though maybe I will wait for an hour or two for the dance – wouldn’t want my first solo meal to be ruined by indigestion).

The Tale of the Scissors


I thought that I could leave my 1 1/2 year old and my 4 year old unattended for the 5 minutes it takes to shower (ok, 8 minutes; ok 10). I’ve done it before with no catastrophic results. Other parents must shower.

Alas, the scene I found when I emerged the other day would indicate otherwise.

My first indication something was amiss was the plaintive calls of the little one. She was stranded on top of a large basket of clothes where her sister had deposited her before abandoning her for more tasty and deviant diversions.

As next I found the big one traipsing out of my bedroom holding a pudding cup (retrieved from a high cupboard courtesy of a floor to chair to counter climbing expedition) that she had been in the process of opening with scissors which were now pudding-covered and IN HER MOUTH. (I have heard running with scissors is frowned upon. I suspect ‘walking with scissors in mouth’ is not really a grey area of this particular danger)

Turns out I can only shower when Daddy is home or the kids are in restraints. And the big one is still on probation for her multiple violations.

The Tale of the Reality Show Pitch


I will be honest, I haven’t watched a single episode of any of the chef-based reality shows. From the titles and the promos, I gather they are intense and tear-inducing. But has any of these wanna-be chefs gone up against the toughest dining demographic this world has ever known?

I propose a new show — Kid’s Kitchen. Gordon Ramsey has nothing on the cranky 2-year-old whose toast is not cut properly.

Contestants on this show would have to please parents when it comes to nutritional value of the meals, and kids when it comes to taste (and smell, temperature, texture, colour, familiarity, shape, size, etc., etc.). They would face the following challenges:

-Requests for elaborate meals that, once made, are rejected outright without so much as a bite being consumed (“But you asked for macaroni and cheese…”).

Picture from: Simply Me

-Dishes that must meet demanding standards – which will vary for each diner and will depend on each diner’s mood that day (which is to say no points for creativity).

-Copious amounts of food being consumed one day, next to nothing consumed the next with no way of knowing what the desired quantity will be in advance.

Endless requests for juice, or milk, or chocolate milk (not that I give my kids chocolate milk – blasphemy!).

-Parents that demand that fruit and vegetables be consumed and new foods tried – children who won’t eat fruit and vegetables and will not be persuaded to try a new food. Ever. No matter the presentation. Or the fancy way it is made. Or the plain way it is made. Not now. Not ever.

The winner will be a Mary Poppins/Julia Childs/The Nanny combo who can miraculously inspire kids to eat mango, and eggplant and kale. We will erect statues in his/her honour and parents will come from far and wide to introduce their children to the wonders of his/her kitchen. Others will believe this unicornian creature does not even exist (of course the product lines that would pop up in grocery stores everywhere should be enough to convince those idiots). His or her greatness will be known throughout the world (which is why, I don’t really see the need for a huge prize on the show. I’d like to keep production costs low¬† you understand. These are difficult financial times we live in people).

Think it will work?