Piereth the hash slinger

This morning saw me literally crawl out of bed at the third reminder by the Husband. 0620hrs. Dark and cold. At least the heating came on - H had been tinkering with the timer / thermostat to try and even things out around the house. Being so tall and thin, the house has temperature bands and it can be a bit like climbing a mountain - colder near the top!

First was getting tonight’s dinner ready - beef casserole, but I just slung all the ingredients into the pan of my crock pot, poured in stock and a bayleaf and left her to grumble away. By tonight it’ll be perfection. Then, R’s lunch, supper and snacks and milk for the nursery. Luckily I have a selection of frozen home made dinners and suppers - this is accomplished by only allowing Husband ONE portion of whatever it is I’ve cooked, instead of half the total amount. This is how he used to eat when we had no child. So R is having sausage hotpot with carrots, peas and new potatoes, plus pasta al pomodoro for supper.

I packed myself some fruit, sent R off to get dressed after his porridge and toast, and came back downstairs to find him rooting through my lunchbag and eating all the grapes, the fatty.

Food is the drug of choice in our house, we’re all such good eaters and love our meals, and look forward to them. I can’t abide picky eaters. It’s different if you can’t eat certain foods for whatever reason - for example, I’ve a friend who has Crohn’s which makes it impossible for her to eat many foods - but those who just won’t try new things get my goat. We have a friend who took thirty small tins of Heinz Baked Beans on holiday with her because she didn’t like ‘foreign’ food. I ask you.

So to resume about this morning, I got R’s huge multi compartmented lunch bag packed,  the dinner on, the washing hung up, the beds made, washing up done and kitchen tidied and then totally ran out of energy, or even enthusiasm, for making Husband and I a packed lunch for work. Sod it. We’re going to the canteen, and stuff the diet.

I tell you, the two hours before 8am on a work morning are enough to kill an ox. I’ve done a full day’s work by the time I front up to my desk!