Its Not All Tea and Roses has moved.....

Hello All,

Just to let you know that Tea and Roses has packed up and moved on over to Wordpress. You can find me blogging about food and family at:

http://itsnotallteaandroses.wordpress.com

and about researching my family history at:

http://discoveringourfamily.wordpress.com

I do hope that you will pop on over and take a look, if you like what you see then why not subscribe to email updates or catch me on Twitter @nkskitchen

Hope to see you soon.

Natalie

Easy Breakfast Oats and Berries

Very quick post this evening as I have the very important task of watching season one of Game of Thrones before it disappears from On Demand but before I settle down I wanted to share a breakfast idea that I picked up quite recently. 

I tend to have the same repertoire for breakfast each day. A slice of toast or a crisp bread or two, a couple of boiled or poached eggs and a mug of tea. But, I am embracing a fruit filled life at the moment as I try to shed the pounds that I have gained during the winter months so, tonight, while I was packing up the leftovers from dinner to take for lunch tomorrow I prepared my breakfast for tomorrow - Easy Oats and Fruit. 

In a small bowl add: 

• 35g of porridge oats
• a layer of natural or flavoured yogurt
• a layer of berries (fresh or frozen) 

Cover the bowl and leave in the fridge overnight. In the morning, uncover, stir and get eating. 

Bad Mood Salmon

It has really been another one of those days. Its been a hot and last nights sleep was restless at best. Its been a day of high tempers and tantrums. We feel cooked in our skins and everything has been served with a side order of stamping feet. 

To try to make things better I am making a "whatever" tea. A "whatever" tea is, J gets to choose what he wants and I get to choose what I want rather than our usual routine of I cook and it gets eaten - regardless. 

Jack likes "whatever" teas. It gives him the opportunity to ask for chips with sweets on the side or bread and butter sandwiches. But not today. 

"I want my absolute favourite, Mummy" he says to me with a certain amount of grown up gusto and a very pseudo posh accent. His absolute [current] favourite is mussels in garlic butter. A few weeks ago it was lasagne (or basagne as he called it) and for what felt like weeks on end I was making family sized trays of lasagne with batches of home made béchamel. Mussels, it has to be said are much easier.

I have chosen baked salmon on roast vegetables with dill, garlic and balsamic vinegar. Easy to make, delicious to eat and very healthy. 

Simply; scatter a teaspoon of a spicy creole mix on the salmon. Cover with cling film and set aside.
Par boil some new potatoes, drain and allow to cool. Put the cool par boiled new potatoes with slices of red onion, fresh beetroot, cherry tomatoes, canned cut green beans and a sliced garlic clove in a bowl. Pour over a tablespoon of thick balsamic vinegar and scatter on a tea spoon of dill. Give it a shake about.
Tip it all in a baking tray and place the salmon fillet on top. Bake for about 20-30 minutes and hey presto, delicious dinner.

The leftovers aren't half bad for lunch either.....

Duvet Day Two....Different Continent, Same Issues.

It just shows that no matter the child, or where they live chaos ensues if they are "feeling like it".  My friend Caroline, who writes Singapore Fling, put up a post yesterday that almost mirrored the day that I have had today. 

I woke up to a happy, smiling little boy this morning. We ate breakfast, got dressed and went down in to the town do some grocery shopping and he was an absolute delight. 

However, somewhere between the fruit isle in Lidl and the driveway at home that little boy was spirited away and a whining, moaning, horror on two legs left in his place. 

Each time I asked him to do anything I was blasted with a stern "no" or "well, I am going to do it anyway". The simplest thing ended up in confrontation or the flailing of small fists.

After one particular challenging conversation over the fact that I had banned any treats for the day because of the behaviour he turned to me and said "if you don't let me have them I am going to cry, loudly". It was at this point I began to shout, loudly. I don't know why I bother shouting. It does absolutely nothing apart from make it all worse. He cries, I nearly do and we end up no better off than when we started. 

To diffuse the situation I suggested a walk. This is usually met with a huff and a puff and a whine of some sort and today was no different. But I persevere. We live in an area of such natural beauty that it would be a shame to be missing it on a rare warm sunny day like today. Thankfully the place I chose  today had lots of mud and puddles and plenty of hide and seek opportunitites so some fun was had before the inevitable slouchy walk and knuckles dragging close to the floor like some lazy primate started and mutterings of "I'm tired" began. 

I wish I could get inside the head of my child and pick out whatever it is that created these bad days, analyse it, record my findings and some up with a solution for the next time. 

People tell me its an age thing, others claim its a boy thing and there are those who say "you wait until he is a teenager". 

There is no doubt that being a parent it probably one of the most rewarding experiences of life but it is certainly one of the most challenging. 

The Sad, Fat Truth

Well, this morning started as any other. Alarm: too early. Child: too grumpy and sleepy. Traffic: too busy. And then I......stepped on the scales.

No good can come from having weighing scales in the house. It leads to self loathing, vilifying ones self for eating that last chocolate hobnob and vowing to not let one morsel of anything other than those purchased on the salad aisle passed your lips in the vain attempt to get a Kate Moss like figure for the weekend.

As it turns out going to work has the same effect. Working in a hospital has the disadvantage of there being weigh scales on every corner just waiting to catch out each an every patient (and member of staff it seems) who has been consuming just a little bit more than they would ever admit.

I found myself in the weigh room this morning and could not resist the urge to jump on the scales. I was HORRIFIED. It seems that in the last nine months I have amassed  more than 16 pounds in extra flesh that, quite frankly, my small 5 foot 4 inch frame can't deal with.

Obviously this is not my fault. It is the fault of those who bring wine, special chocolaty treats and creamy curries in to my home. It is the fault of my friends and those who I love.

About 20 seconds after reading the horrific result, and there is nothing more horrifying than getting weighed in a unit that generally only caters for small people - which means you are always going to be up and over the top end of the weigh chart, that I joined Slimming World.

I immediately told my bestie, Jules, who said "I shall be over later, with wine".  And wine she brought.

 We decided that it would be a last night toast to those 15 pounds (and her measly gain of 5) that would come in the form of half price sauvignon and that tomorrow would be a turning point. Out with the wine and snacks and all things that we enjoy and in with the brown rice, salad and grilled fish. We would be slim, svelte and all the things that come with being slim and svelte by the time summer dawns.

All I can say to that (as I munch on a crisp sandwich is) "Thank God we live in England, the land where summer rarely dawns."  But, I have paid my fees and therefore I must soldier on.......watch this space.

*you see how in a mere three paragraphs I shed one pound in vigorous glass lifting and typing?"

Mummy Cuddles

There are many, many things you don't think about or get told before you become a parent. The ability to ever have a lie in again is one of them.

I do look forward to the patter of small feet coming along the hall way in the morning and the arrival of a sleepy face with crazy hair into my room and the way that he stands a the side of the bed gently prodding my face with a sharp little finger.  I always try, no matter how tired I am, to remind myself that there will come a day when he won't come in for a cuddle and I will likely have to pry him out of  bed for his evening meal or negotiate a pile of dirty laundry, plate and other boy detritus to get to him. 

We are tired today, both of us. We did a little too much partying yesterday and we are paying for it now. He with pasty face and the short temper of a child who enjoyed himself so much that he refused to leave the party until his little legs could take no more and me who embraced the opportunity to put on a nice dress and a pair of heels (remember them?), have a dance and enjoy a glass or three of champagne. It was a great day. A wedding reception of over 200 with a good proportion of children to play with, unlimited party food, a bouncy castle AND muddy puddles to splash in was J's idea of heaven. We danced, I chatted, he played and bounced. He had mud and grass on his face, I had it on my lovely grey, suede heels. I broke up a few childish disagreements and marshalled some tantrums, he ate his own body weight in potato wedges, white bread and Haribo, and I did pretty much the same. 

As we left the dance floor for the last time and said our goodbyes I can remember thinking that a lie in would be wonderful but I knew it wouldn't happen. We did wake up a little later (prospective parents take note - you can put your kids to bed as late as you like but it does little to alter their ability to get up early), but there was no gentle easing into the day. Full on demands for breakfast, games to be played and the want to run around outside in the rain. By lunch-time I was feeling the strain and the need for a sit down on my old-man chair in the corner, listen to a little of something soothing on the radio and sip a nice hot cup of tea was getting desperate. Then he crashed. Normally, I try to avoid the afternoon nap like the plague but today when he came over, thumb in mouth, eyes drooping and settled himself on my knee I thought that my lottery numbers had come in. 

As we dozed, I reminded myself of how lovely and wonderful children really are - when they are asleep.......

Blogging - friend or foe?

For a few years I wrote a blog about food. True to type, I changed its name and design on many occasions. I could never quite settle on what I wanted it to be like. I didn't want it to be yet another site of just recipes, but I love cooking and I loved to share what I made each day. It started out as a home grown food and gardening blog, a sort of tales from my tiny plot, then to a cooking blog and then it veered back towards home grown food when I took an allotment plot on. 

The blog became something of an irritation to other members of the household who couldn't often wait for dinner while I carefully arranged it, took photos and then, quite often left the washing up to sit on the side while I uploaded the pictures, carefully edited them and then wrote a blog post about it.

When I think about it now I do think "did I completely waste my time?" or "should I have been channeling that energy into something that might have benefited us as a family?". I eventually gave up on it. Circumstance was the driving force behind the decision to quit not the actually want to give up, what had become my main hobby. 

Why writing to a limited audience of complete strangers became such an enjoyment to me I don't know. Maybe its the social network culture we live in, the need to share every time our kids sneeze or maybe it was to fill a [now] obvious hole that was growing in my home life. Those strangers who commented on my posts became more of a source of comfort than the people around me. I spend more time with social medial strangers than with my husband. To even type that sentence really does make me quite sad.  When we finally parted everything stopped, the photography, the blogging, the home grown food. Everything. All I could concentrate on was getting up, channeling everything I had into my son, and then getting back in to bed at night - completely drained. 

I tried over the last year or so to get back in to blogging as I find it a great way to be creative and get certain things off my chest. I love to write, I am no JK Rowling and sometimes my grammar and vocabulary leaves little to be desired but I love it (and I don't have an expensive editor). But as much as I tried, every time I opened up the laptop and logged on to my blog I completely dried up. I had absolutely nothing to say and just ended up messing around with themes and fonts and getting nothing down on the page. 

More recently that has begun to change. Whether its part of the healing process when going through a family breakup or not I don't know but I feel like that creative spirit is slowly beginning to return. I have even started thinking about getting out my paintbrushes and giving some old furniture I have a new lease of life. 

I still am thinking of the direction in which I want to take this new blog. It might just end up being a mish-mash of the daily grind, a diary if you will but this time I am writing, not to fill a void but because I enjoy it. I don't intend on spending hours on it, making sure its hooked up to every avenue of social media available or that the photos are perfectly edited. It will be for me and if I don't write each day, each week or each month it won't matter. 

One of THOSE days.

Some times I wish that I could be one of those people who roll out of bed, fresh faced and tidy of hair, bounce down the stairs, grab a travel mug of coffee and leap into the new day.  I however, am not that person and I don't mind admitting I am pretty bloody grumpy when I wake up. 

I wake up in a morning, usually fresh from some bizarre dream or other (the winner of last week was that I dreamed I was cuddling a ready made lasagne, it turned out to be my wheat bag for my sick shoulder), sporting a hair do that looks like it has been partying all night. It defies gravity and tangles itself up so badly that only the strongest of conditioner will coax it straight again. Then comes  the blow dry, the make up and the liberal application of coffee and toast. And thats the easy part. 

Afterwards its all repeated again, minus the blow dry and makeup with a four year old who has an equally as unfortunate hair line as me and the ability to sleep through a nuclear disaster. I used to find it easy to dress him, brush his teeth and bundle him in to the car still asleep if the day called for it but now I can barely lift him and have ensured many a painful pulled muscle trying to do so. Now there are arms and legs everywhere, crocodile tears and whines of "I am tired" and "I want to stay in bed, Mummy". He is hot and bothered and I am usually the same, the blow dry and the makeup already beginning to look tired. 

Always though, by 7.25, we are bundled up in the car, just five minutes before nursery opens its gates and takes the boy, who is now miraculously wide awake and generally chatting away happily, while I go to work. Generally to listen to other peoples kids complaining and whining all day.

Despite the whining from my own and others kids I love to go to work. Working has made me a better parent. I am more patient and more rested. My brain has something other to do that play and be repetitive all day. 

I was very disappointed in myself when I realised, not that long in to motherhood that I wanted to go back to work. I was lucky, I had taken two years off with a view to taking some more if I fancied but then I found myself in a new situation, that of a single parent, and the need to go back to work was not just one of want but one of necessity. The necessity to work has been one of the best things to come out of a traumatic situation. By brain is stimulated and I have made new friends. I now look forward to coming home and hearing about his day, rather than already knowing because I was there all the time, I tell him about my day but more often than not he is more interested in raiding the fridge for a pre-dinner snack or watching Scooby-Doo. I tell him anyway. Then we eat, he takes a bath - washing himself, the walls and the carpet in one fell swoop and then we settled down to stories, or sometimes a treaty half hour on the iPad (we are both suckers for Angry Birds). 

I was having a discussion with my friend the other day about parenting. He has no kids of his own and admits he has a completely different view on parenting than me. The side of parenting he has seen has been as the fun Uncle - the wind them up and send them back to their parents wound like coiled springs type - the reality, as he is finding is, completely different. You wind them up, then you have to deal with them when it all gets too much. The saying "it always ends in tears" it probably the truest sentence ever uttered. He is very much like I was before I became a parent, full of ideas and opinions but when the opportunity arises to demonstrate them with a real life kid, it quickly becomes apparent that much of it will be tossed out with the bath water. 

It makes me laugh now when I think back to what kind of mother I WAS going to be. I was going stay at home, barefoot, making bread and meals from scratch - never letting a packet of sweets or crisps pass his lips, while teaching my kid absolutely everything while keeping a beautiful home - tidy but the sort that he would WANT to bring all his friends home to. 

After a few weeks it became apparent that it was not going to happen. There isn't anything like a real life toddler to bring you down to earth with a big, fat bang. I lived on sandwiches and baked beans and soup for ages because, quite simply, I was so tired that anything else felt like being a contestant on Masterchef. My temper was not quite up to Earth Mother standard, and I discovered that there was only so many times in a day that I could listen to a Fisher Price walking aid singing a song about a dinosaur without wanting to throw it out the window. I longed for a full nights sleep and a read of a novel. 

It is considerably easier now, we know each other better - I think that parenting is alot about getting to know each other. I had lived a pretty selfish life for almost 35 years before he arrived and he was small and unable to understand that it wasn't all about him too. He has a little temper that he is slowly learning to control (even though it runs amok when he is tired or hungry) and I have learned to try to let it run and burn out.  I love the fact that its me he runs to after nursery or when I collect him from a friends house and that each and every day he tells me how much he loves me and gives me a vice like cuddle before he falls to sleep. I love the fact we can sit at the table and play game after game of Connect 4 and Snakes and Ladders, make a disgusting brown mess out of coloured paint and play the adding up game with just about anything. I know he isn't particularly bothered when I tell him about my day but I know he loves the fact that if he is tired and just wants to get under his blanket on the sofa I will be under there with him too.  I can pretty much count on him these days to let me have a good nights sleep and if he doesn't then I know its because there is a reason behind it so I don't care to mind. 

I don't think there is ever a feeling of love like the one you have for your kids. 

Oddly enough, since returning to work I am actually starting to feel like the mother that I thought I would be. We eat well,  play well and we have even been known to throw a bit of bread dough about from time to time. My home could be tidier but I am willing to let that go for weekends of playing in the park - I can still see over the top of the ironing pile so its not that bad......

Life smells pretty sweet.......