Pregnant with my first child, I often daydreamed about what motherhood would be like.
I imagined three or four golden-haired cherubs playing happily together in the rumpus room, while I hummed Doris Day style in the kitchen baking wholesome treats and meals for the family to enjoy.
Dave would come home from work and we’d all sit at the table to devour one of my delicious and nutritious home cooked meals.
I know it’s all very 1950s and not very pc, but that was my dream for awhile – my idea of pure domestic bliss.
Seriously, what was I thinking?
I must have been on crack with that vision, or more likely the victim of weird pregnancy hormones causing me to lose all grip on reality.
I don’t think I could have been anymore deluded.
I’m in the kitchen with my slow cooker meal burning as I shout, ‘No hitting, gentle hands, share, and don’t lick your feet,’ to the kids who are in the rumpus room beating the crap out of each other.
There is chaos, mess, screaming, crying (and not just from the kids), fighting, burnt food, sloppy food, grey food and not a damn Doris Day in sight!
Let’s face it, kids will be kids, but the thing that really gets me is how completely and utterly hopeless I am in the kitchen.
While my Facebook news feed is full of mouthwatering gourmet creations, I battle to make a basic cheese sauce.
I don’t know why I’m surprised or why it’s taken me 37 years to realise I can’t cook. My grades in year eight Home Economics should have been a dead giveaway.
The thing is I want to be able to cook. I really do.
My limited expertise in the kitchen is not for lack of trying.
I am continually experimenting with new recipes. I mostly read the instructions and cook things on medium rather than high now. (I mean, who has time to let things simmer on low for 20 minutes? Sheesh).
Let’s take a look at some of my recent experiments.
Zucchini brownie slice
I’ve been working my way through the recipes in Sarah Wilson’s latest book and thought I’d try the zucchini brownie slice. It looked delicious and I thought it would be the perfect afternoon treat for the kids and a way to get some greens into Smiley.
The recipe required nut butter, but I didn’t have any, so I threw in some regular butter instead. Who would have thought nut butter was such a vital ingredient?
Zucchini and chocolate soup anyone? This one went straight into the bin.
Homemade pizza bases
For this little number, I borrowed my parent’s bread maker, bought all of the ingredients, skimmed the instructions, tossed the ingredients into the bread maker and crossed my fingers.
As the bread maker began to whir, I peered in to see how the dough was forming. It didn’t seem to be doing much, so I left it for five minutes and then had another look.
I repeated this exercise for close to one hour.
I texted my brother, who had used the bread maker before.
He told me to read the instructions again. This is when I found a funny looking metal thing lying on top of the instructions.
As I turned it over in my hand, I realised it was the blade for the bread maker. I had forgotten to insert the blade.
My brother happily announced to me that I had been looking at ingredients in a bowl for one hour.
My horrendous cooking doesn’t seem to bother my family too much. Dave is always very generous giving me a thumbs up after every meal even though he surely must get sick of Spaghetti Bolognese (one meal I can cook) every second night.
My littlest one is not as kind regularly giving me an overall rating of ‘yucky’, or running away from the table screaming.
In saying that, it’s not all bad and there definitely are a couple of Doris Day moments here and there.
For now though, I’ll stick to the basics and keep my 1950s vision of domestic bliss where it belongs.
Are you a domestic goddess, or a little more challenged like me?
Linking up today with Jess for IBOT.