Believe it or not, even an NDM can have her lazy baking days.
Why, just the other day, I was hosting a morning tea and I decided to take a few shortcuts and made mini banoffi pies out of packet gingersnaps and tinned caramel. It’s the kind of recipe you can make from go to woah without ever having to put that martini in your hand down – if, of course, you were inclined to drink martinis before the morning school run. Which of course I’m not. Much.
Anyway, after I’d made these oh-so-darling banoffi pies, I still had two-thirds of a tin of caramel left over. And so I googled recipes that used tinned caramel and came up with a brownie recipe which required three egg whites, which I duly made.
Which of course left me with three egg yolks to use up…
And people wonder why a woman’s work is never done.
Okay, okay, so that particular episode owes itself more to my Obsessive Baking Disorder than to anything else. But let me tell you something: when it comes to the washing of dishes, this woman’s work really never is done. Not. Even. Close.
No sooner have I washed the lot, all it takes is a quick round of lemon cordials and/or fruit’n’cracker snack plates and that sink is full again. Full! If I had known that I was going to become a Domestic Dish Pig when I signed up for this Stay-At-Home gig, I might have reconsidered my options and become a successful novelist instead. But it all started so innocently: just a few small bowls and baby spoons at first, then building up to colourful plastic plates and drinky pots with intricate valve systems and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle cutlery sets. And now it’s lunch boxes and drink bottles and pretty much every dish in the house gets used up in the seven-course meals my kids end up having (pre-dinner snack, main course, side salad, dessert, crackers, cereal – yes, cereal – and then “second crackers” – which is like the hobbits and their second breakfasts, except infinitely more annoying). And voila! I’m rooted to that spot in front of the sink all the bloody live-long day to the point you can see the little grooves in the lino that my feet have started to wear away.
Which is why I’m starting to see the attraction in disposable plates and cutlery, except of course for the accompanying guilt about land-fill and sustainability (and that). Perhaps I should grow a banana plantation in my back yard and get everyone to eat off banana leaves with their hands… Which would probably mean that my dear friends KT and Uncle B would never be able to come to dinner again because they both hate bananas. And in any case, I probably couldn’t do until the kids were all 100% certain of which hand was LEFT and which hand was RIGHT – and since I still occasionally struggle with that concept at the age of 38, it’d be an express train to Gastro Central, baby.
And we all know that whole lotta gastro just makes more work for this woman since my husband’s aversion to excreta of any kind makes it very hard for me to delegate the hosing down of sheets and mattress protectors to him. Vomit and poo I can stomach, no problem – but not all the sighing, dry-retching and dabbing of scented handkerchiefs to the nose of a Man Hard Done-By.
I, of course, go about my work cheerfully, without complaint, and then vent about it on my blog instead. Much more civilised, wouldn’t you say?