Food stuff : Toddlers, Bananas and Cakes

It's Friday! So why not write a post all about bananas? And cakes? Surely that's what's on everyone's minds, no?

I love the idea of bananas. They're fruit, right, so they're healthy (yes, yes, naturally occurring sugars. Whatever). They're convenient, they're self-contained, they're filling. The taste- well, I can take it or leave it, personally, but all toddlers love them, yes?

Maybe.

So here's how things go with bananas in our house:

1 : Offer toddler a banana broken into perfect toddler-bite-sized pieces

"No. The pieces are too small. I want the whole one!"

Mama, ever self-sacrificing, eats offending banana pieces, and...

2 : Offers toddler whole banana

"NO! That's too big! I can't fit it in my mouth!"

3 : Achieve some kind of elusive sweet-spot of banana-piece-size...

NO! That banana is DIRTY!

Give up on whole idea of toddler eating the banana and provide a bag of yoghurt raisins instead.

Don't bother attempting to provide banana again for fear of incurring toddler wrath and so end up with a bowl of spotty, squidgy, overripe bananas (you know, they go from green to mush in a day) that no human being would really want to consume, so...

4 : Make banana bread

Hurrah! Something that involves using overripe bananas but somehow does not taste of bananas. Still consider it healthy as despite the butter and sugar, it still has about five bananas in it. My favourite recipe (minus the nuts for nut-hating Husband) is Felicity Cloake's recipe.

(Mostly this has worked fine for me, other than the day it spewed like a volcano in the oven and, of course, today, when for the first time it wouldn't turn out onto the cooling rack so I now have a, erm, two-part banana bread. Pants.)

Then realise I actually had eight- yes, eight- inedible bananas, which leaves three in the bowl, so feel forced, to avoid food wastage, to make...

5 : Banana and white chocolate chip muffins

Still healthy, surely? Despite the sugar, butter, whole milk and my sneaky addition of white chocolate chunks. The recipe I use seems to have disappeared online, so, briefly:

: 125g butter or margarine
: 150g caster sugar (I've used half this with overripe bananas as it's very sweet)
: 1 egg, beaten
: 2-3 overripe bananas
: 190g self-raising flour
: 60ml milk
: a scattering of white chocolate chips

: Heat oven to 190c
: Melt sugar and butter together. Mash bananas and stir in.
: Add the egg, flour and milk and fold together.
: Fill 12 muffin cases in a muffin pan and bake for 15-20 minutes.

(bonus step 6 : Eat banana bread and banana muffins for lunch since I've spent so long making them I didn't get to the supermarket and can't be bothered to even make a cheese sandwich. Hurrah again!)

Bananas. One day I'll learn and stop buying the ruddy things.

Mum stuff : The Five Stages of Dressing a Toddler

Cub, demonstrating an outdoor version of
 'move away back over there' 

Inspired by this very funny post, these are my five stages of dressing Cub as according to Cub (or so I imagine, and since her capacity for non-stop commentary is rapidly increasing, my imagination doesn't need to be that good). I could make this list about 20 stages long but that would be against the principles of the blog, so here's a summary. 

(Kudos to Husband, who attempts the first three stages of this precipitous task almost every morning before he goes to work, occasionally in place of eating his breakfast.)

1 : Get dressed? Why on earth would I want to do that?! I've got stuff to do. Like washing my hands with 'soup' eight times and putting your socks on my giant Ikea toy dog's feet. Be away with your 'getting dressed'. Turn the tap off, you say? Sorry, I can't hear you. 

2 : I do NOT want the elephant nappies, thanks. Only the birdie ones. We don't have any? Well, that's your problem. And while we're at it, I don't like trousers, and I see no problem with wearing socks and tights at the same time. Don't foist your meaningless dressing conventions upon me. I'm running away from you now, and just to be sure you understand that, I will do it whilst shouting 'I'm running away from you!'

3 : Oh, all right. But only because you said I can watch five episodes of Peppa Pig after breakfast. And don't think for a moment that I'll forget that's what you promised. And don't even try to fob me off with that Noddy rubbish. 

4 : I can put my shoes on all by myself, thanks mum. And yes, I can do the zip on this ridiculous thick winter coat that you've insisted I wear for the freezing conditions outside (and which, for the record, I am not happy about- the lightweight cardigan would have sufficed). I'm perfectly capable. Your help is not required. Move away back over there.*

5 : For the love of God, mother, HELP ME. Do you really expect me to be able to do my shoes up by myself? And a ZIP?! I'm two, for goodness' sake, TWO. I'm going to need psychotherapy later in life to deal with your unreasonable expectations. Well, it's too late now. The damage is done. Now think about what you've done whilst I sit here in the hallway crying inconsolably. 

*she actually says this last bit, whilst pointing insistently to the other side of the room/ house/ universe.