Yesterday I actually tore myself away from the computer long enough to make my very own chicken stock, from scratch.
And today I turned it into risotto. I've never made risotto before (although sometimes my attempts at fried rice turn out so much like risotto, that I have been known to pass it off as risotto. But that doesnt count.)
Here it is:
I know what you're thinking. It looks like a bowl of sloppy baby food. I agree, that the aesthetics could be improved somewhat, but it actually tasted really good. The man of the house, and the little man of the house, both turned up their noses at it.
Little do they know, that I have already added it to my menu plan.
Anyway, I didn't get to sit down and enjoy my handiwork in peace, because the man of the house was playing in his first rugby game of the season.
I've been looking forward to this. He hasn't played for a few years, but I have fond memories of watching him play on freezing saturday afternoons, back in our dating days.
He'd assured me that the game started at 1:30pm.
At 1:15pm I was rushing out the door, with baby on one hip, and an armful of bags filled with sunscreens, snacks, drinks, spare nappies, hats.
This in itself, is quite an achievement for me.
You know those wonderful organised mothers, that are prepared for any situation? Your baby does a spit-up down the front of themselves, and those mums have already whipped out a cleaning cloth, while you are frantically searching through your handbag for a spare wipe. Weather turns cold? Never mind, they've got 3 jackets stashed in thier bags and 2 changes of clothes, just in case.
Well....Sad to say, I have never been one of those mothers.
So, I was feeling quietly pleased with myself, for being semi-organised, if running slightly late. Never mind that the house was looking like a bomb hit, because I was on the computer this morning, instead of doing the housework.
We arrive at the rugby oval, only to find that the game started at 12pm, and was already over by the time we arrived.
We all came home looking a bit dejected, and proceeded to lay on the sofa, and eat chips.
The moral to the story is: Timeliness is not my husbands strong point. Bless his heart.