Nigella, I am not!

Last day at childcare

The short one, unbelievably, starts pre-prep next week. The year before she launches herself into 13 years of formal school education. Unashamedly, the last two years of childcare have successfully lulled me into a false sense of 'all-over-it-ness!' Daycare provided an onsite cook, laundry, nappy service and 12 hour day flexibility. Mind you, we also paid through the nose for the privilege.


Now, we are facing strict 8.45am to 2.45pm days, 5 days a fortnight. Such convenience for working parents! But that's OK, we have been compensated by the fact that we now not only have to provide the child, but one complete with a day's worth of grazing. For the short one, that mostly equates to her body weight.

Why is it that the mere thought of lunch boxes strikes absolute fear into the most capable of mothers? I thought I was missing something there at one stage. There seems to be a whole industry spawned from the fear of the lunchbox. Websites, books, fact sheets, whole government departments have been generated to deal with lunchbox anxiety.

Is it because as soon as your child enters the formal education realm you are immediately struck down with lunch amnesia? Surely, if your child is heading off to school, one can safely assume you have been successful in 4-5 years of lunch preparation prior to this.

Or is it because the pressure of providing a five star, nutritionally balanced, beautifully plated, nude lunch is just too much for all those non-Nigellas amongst us. No doubt there is something in the 'not-wanting-to-be-known-as-the-mother-of-the-poor-child-who-has-stale-vegemite-sandwiches-each-day'.

Perhaps then we could take a leaf out of Nigella's book...just start eating in the closet late at night...

The top five and one on turning five and forty

You would think after spending some years in the 'forty-decade' that I would be all over it by now. Even my beloved husband kindly reminds me at regular intervals that the half-decade is fast approaching. But the fact of the matter is, I am a big girl now. I can count, thank you. I am painfully aware of my birthdate and am able to add-on up to the current year in order to calculate my age. Despite my short-comings in mathematical skills. I don’t need reminding, like some slow-on-the-uptake student.

But what becomes all the more painfully obvious is the overall features on offer upon entering the fifth decade.

Here are my top 6...

1. General tolerance levels immediately deplete, not unlike hormone levels. In fact, perhaps they are incongruously aligned with each other. One’s tolerance levels of small children, ignorant people, stupidity and males in general (particularly allegedly sick ones) instantly decline upon turning 40.   Similarly, oestrogen. 
2. The ability to consider others, particularly on the roads whilst driving, is inversely proportionate to those of the younger generation's ability to think. Yes, doing a u-turn at an intersection (unless otherwise signed) is illegal. Clearly this rule has been wiped from the driving school curriculum.
3. It is harder to get up off the floor, there is no beating around the bush on this one.
4. Good food and good wine take on a whole new meaning. Fasta Pasta, Passion Pop, Great Western Spumante and cleanskin goon just no longer cut it.
5. You discover a whole other section to your local pharmacy – the one that deals with podiatry and digestive issues…though not necessarily incongruously aligned this time   …and probably the most difficult one to take...
6. You are no longer asked for photo ID at your local, instead you are ‘respectfully’ referred to as ma’am. 

I have long lived by the mantra – ‘what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger’ (not sure why) – so bring on ‘five and forty’!