First Things First

It’s been a week of firsts in the household where the laundry never ceases.

First up for a gold medal is the Boy, who seems to have made a leap across the emotional intelligence divide, and is now bombarding me with verbal love on a daily basis.  It started last week, as I tucked him up into bed.

“Mummy, I love you SO MUCH it makes me sad.  Why it does make me sad?” 

Lordy.  What do you say to that?  With trembling lip and choked up throat I whittered something inane about sometimes love hurting but that it wasn’t real sad, just a very special sort of sad.  (Which, now that I think about it, sums up my ability to answer my son’s question perfectly). 

From that enormous leap, it was only a small hop over to emotional blackmail.  Yesterday I got:  “Mummy, I love you SO MUCH... Please can I have a treat?”;  and from there, a mere saunter into manipulation: “But Daddy say Yes...”

In joint first place – because the events were done to her, not by her* – is the Girl, whose increasingly apparent shoe fetish was rewarded this week with her first pair of shoes.  And amazingly, they were not the Boy’s hand-me-downs (there’s something just a teeny bit yucky about second-hand shoes – even if it is for an infant).  I went for the most non-pink ones I could find (navy and pink) and I have to say they are VERY cute indeed.  Even if they do spend most of the time in her mouth.

She also gets a special mention for having endured her first haircut.  Before her arrival – indeed before I ever had children – I swore that any children I had would be treated exactly the same by me.  It’s something that the Man and I then discussed at length when I was pregnant with her;  what sort of a parent treats their children differently? 

Every sort, it transpires – and especially me.  Point in case:  The First Haircut.  The Boy’s was in a kiddy-friendly salon, he sat with a lollipop in his mouth, watching fish in a tank, entertained with books and stuffed animals;  he had his photo taken, and was presented with a certificate – yes, you read right – enclosing a lock of his newly-shorn hair.  I think we may have gone out for lunch afterwards – but I’m hoping it was only because we were hungry, and not because we were such ponces that we actually thought we’d celebrate something so nonsensical.

The Girl, therefore, could reasonably have expected much the same treatment.  Which might account for her look of bewilderment when I strapped her into her high chair, armed her with a handful of raisins, and snipped the rats’ tails off her (rather magnificent) mullet.  I did, naturellement, keep a lock of hair in a tiny fold of paper, but – oops - I now seem to have thrown that fold of paper away. There was no certificate, no fish-tank, and no post-‘do lunch.  Significantly however, neither was there a bill for FIFTEEN pounds.  (I suspect that all good intentions to treat one’s children the same start to crumble when ALL one’s money seems to be spent on said children...)

The Man will no doubt be horrified to be left out of the award-giving ceremony, but I can’t think of anything out of the norm performed by him this week.  He was exemplary in his day-to-day behaviour, as ever. As for me – well first I made a Simon Hopkinson recipe for aubergine and pesto which I hadn’t had before (I have a thing about SH at the moment) -  and then – THEN! – I did this:

TA-DA!  Relentless Laundry has finally entered the 20^th 21^st century... I’m sure I’ll soon get sick of having to wipe down a surface in the kitchen to make it photo-worthy, not to mention making sure that things I cook look vaguely edible, but for now, consider it the first of many. 

Aubergine and Pesto (Lifted from Simon Hopkinson)

You need:  (For 2, as a side):

• One Aubergine
• A jar of good quality pesto (obviously home-made would be nicer – and SH’s recipe involves making this;  I however don’t generally have the time or the ingredients to hand for such, but almost always have a tub of ready-made in the fridge.  For ease I recommend this as the preferred route.  Sorry Simon.)
• Some olive oil, salt and pepper
• A small amount of parmesan, grated.

Preheat oven to 220c/425f/gas 7.

Cut aubergine in half (see picture!) and cut down through the flesh in a criss-cross / lattice pattern – but not as far down as the skin. (You’re just aiming to create slashes for the oil and pesto to permeate the aubergine).

Place in an oven-proof dish and cook in the oven for about 30 mins.  (When it comes to cooking aubergine, more is always more as far as I’m concerned.  So – if it calls for 20 – 30 mins (as this does) I go for 30 -40;  nothing worse than a slightly al dente aubergine, and nothing better than a silky meltingly soft one.

Remove from oven, turn on your grill, and spread a spoonful of pesto over the top (See picture!).  Sprinkle with some grated parmesan (See pic... Sorry, I’ll stop now) and put under the grill until the topping is bubbling – a couple of minutes. 

Leave to stand for a few minutes – or to cool, depending on your preference for aubergine.

We ate this with these roasted peppers and some shop-bought pizza.  (Sadly not the first time - nor the last - that ready-made pizza lines our bellies...)

*Post-script (Literally):  We now officially have a toddler on our hands.  At 645pm yesterday evening, we had a giant step for a baby, albeit a small step for babykind. The prize for the biggest first is thus awarded to the Girl, now all grown up. Sniff.

PPS:  Aw...: