You may have noticed a dearth of fabulous recipes lately on this blog. You see, after the initial enthusiasm, I've fallen into a cooking rut.
With Baby's naps becoming a scarce commodity, the last thing I want to do during her sleeps is to plan dinner, when I'd much rather spend that 20-45 minutes either blogging or snoozing. What hasn't helped is discovering that, of all the dishes I've tried, the boy's favourite is fish fillet, baked from frozen, in between two slices of white bread and garnished with a slice of raw tomato. It's hardly inspirational.
Today's big housewifely task was possibly the least fun thing I could have chosen to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon - oven cleaning. It had to be done though, and it had to be done with Baby out of the house and at a safe distance from those nasty, toxic oven-cleaning fumes. So I had to do it while she and daddy were out feeding the ducks at the Botanic Gardens.
Considering that our oven hasn't been cleaned since...how long has Baby been alive?...eight months ago, the stuff really works. I sprayed it on (choking and trying to breathe through a paper towel), left it for about half an hour and - voila! - the grime just wiped off; that corner of the kitchen is no longer a potential feature for the How Clean Is Your House TV crew.
But, phew - it's just the dirtiest job ever. I think I must've rinsed the sponge out a couple of dozen times before the water stopped running black and sooty. I was so mucky, sweaty and air-polluted that afterwards I had to do time under a hot shower, followed up with a nice lie-down and a bowl of feijoa ice cream.