Joni likes scrambled eggs.
She will eat them from a spoon or delicately with her hands.
She will also eat toast and flakes of salmon.
For pudding she likes toast dipped in yoghurt, yoghurt by itself and strawberry and apple fruit purée.
Frank does not like scrambled eggs. Frank will spit or claw them out of his mouth if you feed them to him on a spoon or if he feeds himself.
Frank will pretend that he’s eating toast but is really just chewing it til it is soggy and then letting it fall down the sides of his chair.
Frank also does not like flakes of salmon.
He prefers to grind them around his high chair tray with his hand or fling them over the sides.
Frank also does not like his previous favourite chicken and apple.
He likes it neither in pieces nor puréed up like mummy did yesterday and which he gobbled up happily.
Frank likes yoghurt. He likes yoghurt even when it is really puréed chicken and apple covered in yoghurt.
Frank is an idiot.
Frank is up for adoption.
Joni and Frank‘s Dinner story (Joni 2 Frank 0):
Joni is cautious but realises that she still likes flakes of salmon.
She likes to eat them delicately with her hands or sometimes lets mummy feed them to her with her own.
She also likes black olives. She treats them like peas and plops them into her mouth happily.
She also likes pasta in tomato sauce and snatches up the pasta tubes on the tips of her tiny fingers.
She will also happily gobble up puréed chicken and apple left over from lunch time.
For pudding she likes banana chunks and apple and raspberry purée.
Frank is stubborn and still does not like flakes of salmon.
He gives them a cautionary taste and then scrapes them from his tongue.
He likes to scrape his tongue so much that he sometimes makes himself sick all over himself and his tray.
He doesn’t like mummy feeding him and shakes his head from side to side and flails his hands around.
He pretends he likes olives, but really he just puts them in his mouth to suck them then takes them out again.
He likes to play a game of making the bits of olive smaller and smaller until they’re barely there at all, but still he doesn’t swallow them and spits them into his bib.
Frank thought that he liked pasta in sauce, but really he likes to rub the pasta sauce all over his face so he looks like the tango man.
He licks the pieces of pasta then places them carefully back on the tray all the time grinning and giggling.
After 30 minutes of giggling and playing with tiny olive pieces Frank realises that he’s still hungry.
He is indignant that Mummy isn’t feeding him properly!
Now Frank likes puréed chicken and apple.
But he only likes puréed chicken and apple for eight spoonfuls.
Then Frank no longer likes puréed chicken and apple.
Now Frank likes apple and raspberry purée.
He likes apple and raspberry purée even though it is really puréed chicken and apple covered in apple and raspberry purée.
Frank deserves a good kicking.
Frank will be leaving us tomorrow.
A long, long time ago in exactly the same galaxy, country, city and indeed London borough as now, there lived a girl. This girl was bored with her job which had become overly stressful and which was, quite frankly, getting her down a bit. She decided it was time to see the world. Again. (Because she is a spoilt brat and had already been around the world once before. But not that spoilt because she did fund it all herself actually. Which reminds her that she still needs to get round to getting the money back for the mis-sold payment protection insurance. But that is another (rather boring) story.)
And so throwing caution and PPI payments to the wind, she gaily pootled her way around various faraway lands, missing most of her flights, spending all of her money and while doing so sent silly messages home to her friends and family. In response, these friends and family told her that she had a bit of a knack for the silly message and urged her to do more writing. Not wanting to rush into things, however, and because she is an expert in putting things off, she thought about it briefly and then went back to her boring office job for another five years.
At this point she was made redundant and again had time on her hands to reflect. She took part in an elaborate career assessment program paid for out of guilt by her redundancy-making company and came to the conclusion that yes, indeed she did want to think about moving on, but was still not exactly sure where she wanted to move to. Again people said to her that she had a knack for the silly message and should branch out beyond the realms of boring IT. Other people said encouragingly that she could become the new Kate Adey, or Julia doo-da hiking person or Rachel doo-da gardening type (pretty much any (female) BBC presenter, in fact), or what about a speciality ‘Dear John’ break-up letter writer (based on a particularly good one penned for a previous disastrous relationship), a speech writer, a teacher, a hat maker, in fact ANYTHING other than your boring IT office job Kate, for God’s sake what are you thinking?!?…
Still not wanting to be too rash, however, and just to make absolutely sure that it really truly wasn’t her thing, she decided to give IT one more chance. So in a terrifyingly ambitious side shuffle from database computer shit to website computer shit she started another boring IT office job and stayed there for a good solid three years. During this time, her extra-curricular activities centred themselves around getting married and having twin children (watch this space and that space for more details on those ludicrous adventures) but then, during her long, drawn-out maternity leave that niggly ‘what-if’ feeling came back to the fore. And so it is that ten years after the first person first told her that she had a bit of a knack for the silly message, she decided to make writing that silly message her main occupation1.
Which brings us to now. We are here. We are doing it. We are mothers who are hovering close to insanity! Well I am. But I’m rather hoping that there are other people out there – mothers or no – who feel the same way too. Otherwise I’m just someone who is openly admitting a bunch of rather deranged and at times embarrassing details about my life that no-one else in the entire world can relate to. Oh well, why not?
1 Sort of. This so far pays f-all, so I have other ventures (a husband, primarily) to keep me flush in Bisto.