Always eager to shift blame, I’ve decided my middle-aged spread is the Sprogs’ fault. Accommodating their 4.3kg and 4.1kg fetuses was the first transgression. They were so big they had to be surgically removed, which prevented any form of exercise beyond a miserable hobble when each was born. And my skin afterwards … loose, very loose. (Though fortunately not in the Kegel region.) Then came the eating-their-leftovers pitfall that all mothers face. Now we’ve entered a new phase: Sprogs requesting exotic food items at fetes/fairs/markets then refusing to eat them. Exotic food items purchased at fetes/fairs/markets tend to be pricey. I am incapable of paying $7 for a sausage roll – as I did yesterday – then throwing it in the bin when a Sprog won’t eat it. Someone in the family must consume it and that someone is usually me. It wasn’t a complete surprise when Sprog 1 nibbled on her pork & truffle sausage roll then curled her lip. Truffles aren’t no.1 on most eight-year-olds’ mmmm-mmmm lists. But the bloody thing had already been bagged when the stallholder explained its ingredients and I didn’t have the heart/guts to cancel the order. She had a nose ring, meaty forearms and said she kills her own pigs because it’s so hard to find good help these days. Sprog 1’s exact words after tasting the sausage roll were, “it’s good but not great” which was her way of letting me down gently. I replied, “So you’re not going to eat it?” The answer, as suspected, was “no.” So I ate it. I don’t think pork & truffle sausage rolls for morning tea contribute to waistline reduction, do you? I tried Sprog 1 on goat’s cheese and pumpkin ravioli next, deep-fried for some bizarre reason. Her facial expression was pretty funny, which was half the reason I did it (I’m a bit of a sadist like that – when I was a kid I used to play cafes with my sister, but the only thing on the menu was a smoothie made with everything sweet in the fridge. She still can’t stomach peanut butter.) The other half of the fried ravioli thing ended up in my belly too. At the school fundraiser on Friday night there were cups of stuff called Dipping Dots, which is ice-cream that comes as lots of tiny balls. I ponied up $7 for a cup of the strawberry ones (Sprog 2) and a cup of the chocolate ones (Sprog 1). Both were handed to me half-finished because they were “too sweet”. Both slid down my throat. I know the answer to the problem is simple: be more discerning about what I buy them and less twitchy about throwing it away. I’m filing that away for January 1. It’s far too much (illicit) fun hoovering up their discards right now.
PS Speaking of the horizontal boogie, Sprog 1 and I were driving home yesterday when an ad came on the radio for a product that comes in “oral strip” form and promises to turn your partner from a dud to a stud. If you’re still not following me, it’s for males with performance issues. Sprog 1 says to me, “Dad should get some of that.” And I’m like, huh? Cause I wasn’t really listening. Then I catch the end of the ad. I’m like, “Ohhhh … that’s just a joke ad, don’t listen to it.” But isn’t it nice that she wants me to have “extended pleasure”? Very thoughtful.
TONIGHT’S MENU: I got some yummy lamb sausages at the market yesterday, which I stumbled across while taking Sprog 1 to the library. I’m going to serve them with roast Mediterranean vegies. They’re delish. I toss chunks of zucchini and eggplant with halved roma tomatoes, smashed garlic cloves and a quartered and separated red onion. Drizzle with a few slugs of olive oil, sprinkle with sea salt and bake in the oven until the eggplant is golden. Yum. But it might move to tomorrow night instead, depends on how long and filling the drinks at the neighbours’ house are.
housegoeshome 
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