Annual review

Some celestial prankster is playing with the fast forward button as yet another year has skipped past with not the blink of an overtired eye. 'Tis the week of the day of my birth once more, another digit to the tally, another wrinkle on the forehead. But this time around I'm feeling older and wiser in a good way - huzzah! The challenge of life on a lemonade purse has turned into just that, not a problem, or a pain (okay sometimes a pain when I see something delectable in a shop window) but a good heartening challenge to met with a frank stare direct to the eyeball. I'm enjoying all this creative practicality; well who knew? My inner lush cowers in submission as I type.

But it isn't just me getting older (well duh!) toddler boy has morphed with a kick and a yell into my wee boy; proper cheeky mouthed rough and tumble boyhood is in full swing. As for baby girl, ah my last little fledgling has bum shuffled up the developmental ladder to official toddler status. So this year when it comes to birthday eve I might just get my indulgent bath as both wee boy and toddler girl are sleeping through (cranky pants illness induced insomnia aside) without a murmur. Such is progress.

Life is a but a dream...

And me and big tall hubby (grammar my dear, grammar) have a night on the town to look forward to; nothing too fancy mind! Tickets are already in the bag for a gig (sadly not guest list, ah those days are truly behind me) and with babysitters lined up (friends are such wonderful beings) for an early start we'll even manage dinner beforehand. Blimey O Riley I must be getting older as the prospect of dinner is just as exciting as a gig - the horror! This crazy past year we've come head to head with the unbelievable havoc that two small children can wreak on life as we know it; yet one fantastic fact as emerged; we love each other's company and relish the opportunities to indulge in it even after sleepless nights, todler tantrums and almost two decades of togetherness. That is no bad thing, no sirree bob.

So bring on the birthday; the celebrations; the extra year on the tally and the enticing promise of another year managing this lemonade purse.

On the flipside

Toddler boy has been a dream on the food front. From baguette to broccoli, squash to spaghetti he would eat it if I cooked it. Down the local playgroup I was the annoying mother declaring, "oh mine will eat anything, yes even vegetables", while trying to tone the smugness down from a modest grin to a manageable smile. They are still talking to me so I'm guessing I managed alright; either that or they knew what was coming. If pride comes before a fall I've just tumbled down Everest. Someone has come in the night and swapped my compliant little man for a fussy faced food monster.

These last few weeks toddler boy's taste buds have revolted. All that passes his lips is now subject to the type of scrutiny that has tax evaders quaking. There is no hiding a bean behind a bit of pasta; he'll take it then spit the offending item out. And baby girl likes nothing better than to imitate her big brother; he doesn't eat it then neither will she. Double trouble. So what is off the menu...onions, courgette, mushroom, broccoli, cabbage...the list increases daily...nay hourly. Each and every meal time brings a new revelation and ramps up the horror for my inner chef.

off the menu..arggh

I've resorted to cunning measures to cram the goodness into them whether they like it or not. There is a delicious recipe for pasta sauce made from squash, with onions in there too - it tastes sweet and creamy - the perfect hiding place for veggies heading for toddler lips. Mind you, what works one day won't work the next. Oh I've learnt my lesson; no complacency here thanks.

And it isn't just the food groups he's particular about. Oh no. Let us not forget the grouping of the food on the plate. The potato mustn't touch the stew, beans on the left, fish fingers on the right etc. The ketchup (compulsory with all meals apart from the bowl of cereal in the morning and I fear it is only a matter of days before he demands it there too) has to be pooled neatly in the exact spot on the plate he indicates or all hell breaks loose. I swear a mad dictator could not be more demanding or persnickety. In a bid to allow him some sense of self - going on the premise that this flip in his behaviour is a developmental stage - please, please let it be so - I'm going along with some of this. Plus I do need him to eat something; if all his meals go in the bin with nothing 'till the next meal childhood obesity won't be an issue in this house.

Humbled I head towards another week of kitchen hit'n'miss. If all else fails we'll dig out the baked beans and bulk buy the fish fingers; at least that is two major food groups covered. And now in playgroup I can smile in empathy with the other mums who suffer the whims of toddler appetites; so much easier on the facial muscles. I could probably cut back on the anti-wrinkle cream thanks to this; ah a silver lining.

swings and roundabouts

Okay, making your own digestive biscuits is not cheaper than buying a pack, but they do taste fine, very fine indeed.

And what could be more fun than baking with a toddler, right? Um, well, depends on what you're baking. In this case not so fun. You mix the bran, sugar and flour with butter in the way you would a crumble - not with a wooden spoon that flicks it all over the place.

'Spoon mummy, mix' he declares as my precious ingredients go flying. Mummy takes over firmly at this stage. Stir in a beaten egg. Then we come to rolling out, which toddler boy loves almost as much as mixing, he just doesn't grasp the need for it to be flat. Mummy attempts to take over which results in toddler boy declaring war and taking the pottery pekeko hostage. Biscuit mix isn't the only thing he's capable of flinging. So mummy offers a peace treaty in the shape of a star biscuit cutter. Now we're getting somewhere. The stars land safely on the baking tray and toddler boy is delighted.

Then he discovers the off cuts, which mummy plans to roll out again and make yet more stars with, but no, toddler boy grabs and eats. Yum? I doubt it but it doesn't stop him having another go, at which mummy intervenes with a swift lift and swoop manouvre placing the other side of the safety gate. Ah, that's better. Raw egg and toddler tums should not meet.

So that was digestive biscuit making day. An hour of toddler entertainment, 16 biscuits all for the price of a few ingredients and a mild stress head, not bad.