After approximately 22 years of choosing what food to buy and then cooking it, I have finally had enough.
I am bored witless of what was once a novelty, and wish to hang up my shopping list notepad and give the merciless task of cooking for a family of four, and choosing foods that they will all enjoy, to someone else.
If I had even looked another roasted vegetable or butternut squash in the eye, I would have screamed
I wish to pass this particular baton of family madness to someone who is not me. I wonder if my nine-year-old is up to the task?
I can no longer think of innovative meals for four. I am bored of the taste of them all.
By the end of the winter months, if I had even looked another roasted vegetable or butternut squash in the eye, I would have screamed. But now that the British summertime is here, I am already sick of salad.
There are only so many variations of leaf, with a variety of protein-based accompaniments, that I can cope with.
When one first leaves home and is let loose upon the aisles of the supermarket, it is a positive joy to wander freely, choosing which junk to sling in the trolley and then stuffing your face later with salami slices on toast with melted brie if that is what one fancies.
The waistline of a 19-year-old burns that rubbish off quicker than a match on petrol, and your arteries – or the health of your future offspring
– are the furthest thing from your cider-sodden mind.
However, by 41, the anxiety of needing to provide balanced sustenance for each member of the Lush household, has reached a fever pitch of dull. Perhaps I set my own bar too high when I started making things like pesto from scratch once I was a stay-at-home mum, attempting to obliterate anything processed from our diets.
But nearly five years since those full-time mummying days ended and I am ready to pop my pine nuts where there are considerably fewer UV rays, if it means not having to find the energy to blend the little blighters with basil.
THE TRUTH ABOUT CATS AND DOGS
I am the owner of two dogs and two cats. All feline and canine members of the household visited the vet last week for their annual check-up.
I always book this en masse nightmare for half-term when my husband and kids are home, in order to face the nightmare in one fell swoop, as opposed to individual visits.
This time, each animal in turn shamed us. Mavis (cat) is apparently fat, with foul teeth. Ethel (pug) is underweight (who’s ever heard the words ‘pug’ and ‘underweight’ in the same sentence?).
Dolly (dog) did a massive wee in the reception, and only Stanley (cat), came away polishing his furry halo.
Until we got home, where it transpired he’d been luxuriating in a pool of his own urine for the return trip.
TIDY ROOM, TIDY MIND
There can be little as therapeutic in life as having a massive clear-out.
A huge, harsh, chuck-it-out session. I have been storing reams of paperwork and files for years, and this week I decided to simply get rid.
I had piles for the shredder, piles for the recycling bin, piles galore. And out they all went. Gone. Farewell. Goodbye.
Our dining room now resembles a dining room again, instead of a storage room, and the drawers in our dresser are clear and tidy.
There is something to be said for the adage of a tidy room equaling a tidy mind. I feel noticeably lighter, as though a weight has been lifted. It was incredibly satisfying to then do the exact same with the virtual piles in terms of the folders on my laptop.