He who picks

My mum used to make savoury pancakes for dinner when we were kids. Stuffed with something like tuna and cheese, I think. I always like adding to our repertoire, especially if it means Kian has more than two mouthfuls. A wrap of sorts has so many possibilities: a Mexican-inspired filling of beans, chilli, avocado and coriander; sweet, buttery onion with chunks of spiced meat; pumpkin and ricotta; curried vegetables...

But we never have wraps. The trouble with bought wraps is their list of ingredients. I can't bring myself to buy anything I don't want to put into our tummies. I make flatbreads but they crisp and crumble and it's not quite the same.

Until I started thinking more about mum's pancakes in Egypt and back to my time in France when I used to wander the main square in Montpellier looking for a bite to eat. There were always sweet crêpes filled with chocolate spread and savoury galettes made with buckwheat flour and oozing cheese.

A couple of weeks ago, I filled a big paper bag with buckwheat flour at my local organic shop and came home and made the batter. I let it sit in the fridge for an hour or two, and then cooked ladlefuls in a knob of butter till brown and set.

The perfect wrap. Soft and delicious and better than all those tortillas out there. I can't believe I haven't made them sooner. A couple of weeks ago, I made 'snails' with a mixture of softened onion, grass-fed beef mince spiced with cumin and coriander and a little grated cheese. Luca's had his smeared with avocado. He-who-picks-out-anything-green didn't.

Yesterday felt like another pancake day, except this time I ground the buckwheat groats myself to make the flour – much cheaper that way. A quick blitz of the batter ingredients*, a rest in the fridge and all you need is a good pancake pan. Slices of free-range ham and grated cheese for the boys with a bowl of tomatoes on the side; added wilted spinach and lots of basil for us. I folded the pancakes in half and popped them in the oven long enough for the cheese to melt.

I was in France again.

Except, hang on, I don't remember anyone there picking out the ham and squishing their noses...

Can someone please tell me I'm not alone with a fussy discerning eater? I was always of the belief that picky eaters weren't born picky; that they're somehow conditioned through what they get fed and the choices they get. But it's not true. I have what can only be described as a home-cook-and-food-writer's dream child and... well, one that isn't.

I know his unadventurous ways won't last forever, that it's most probably to do with attention or control, but right now I just want to hear that your child couldn't care less about your cooking either.

Please? It'll make me feel so much better.





* 1 1/4 cup buckwheat flour, 1/2 cup plain flour, 2 eggs, 2 1/2 cups milk, good pinch of salt

The good stuff

I'm still in survival mode.

And after reading what sounds like very good advice on parenting toddlers (actually, parenting full stop), I'm thinking I should try harder. Ditch the lazy 'battle-it-through' and adopt a more understanding approach. Except that I'm very tired.

So I'm not very patient at the moment. Which isn't so great for understanding a child's perspective. It looks like I'm back where I started.

Working out what is going on, deciding on different strategies and putting them into practice... well, it's draining just thinking about it.

But it's what I will do. Eventually. I'm not one for leaving things to sort themselves out (although I should sometimes). I over-think and I analyse to death. So I'll work it out. Even if by that stage he's a teenager.

In the meantime, we're just pottering.

Quietly, I always hope. But very noisily, in reality.

While I pottered the other day layering vegetable scraps and newspaper shreds in the compost, Luca asked to pick some kale.

Truth is my heart sank. Not because he wanted to pick kale, but because Kian was hovering. Kian copies, like any sibling does. But he does everything more wildly.

I had visions of Luca picking a few leaves, then Kian pulling out all the kale from their roots. Thinking that was tremendous fun, he'd move onto the spinach and lettuce and within a minute, it would look like a whipper-snippered mess.

It was nothing like that, of course.

Luca snipped. Kian watched.

A bit of kale. A bit of spinach.

This is the best bit: I suggested making a juice out of it. And we did.

A juice of kale, spinach, banana, frozen berries, lemon, bee pollen and maca powder.

I have absolutely no idea what the bee pollen and maca powder do. I just know it's good stuff.

Thanks to Nicola Chatham, I'm not only growing all of these glorious leaves on a patch of concrete by my washing line, but because she introduced me to Jessica Ainscough, aka the Wellness Warrior, I'm making juices I probably never would have made.

They drank the lot.

Kian, my fussy little eater, who throws food across the table, who kicks his plate in disgust...

Consumed. And. Enjoyed. Raw. Greenery.

It was a lovely moment.





My recipe for a mother's survival

Things seem to have gone downhill over the past few days.

It could be a number of things.

It's almost three years since we left England. I don't know when, if ever, mum will be a drive away.

It's the school holidays, which I know for most is cause to celebrate – when Luca eventually goes to school, I'll be celebrating holiday time, too.

But for now, the school holidays have interrupted our flow. A change of routine is normally a good thing, but I need routine at the moment to keep me going.

Or maybe it has less to do with homesickness and a changing rhythm, and more to do with the arguing, the noise and the mess.

It's probably toddlerhood.

The relentlessness of the everyday.

The many battles. The Nappy Change Battle. The Getting Dressed and Undressed Battle. The Wiping Nose Battle. And my biggest battle of all: stopping an 18-month-old scratching, hitting and hurling wooden blocks at his older brother with perfect aim.

So right now, I'm just working on getting through.

We won't be painting with bubble wrap or making pretty pictures with glue and spices.

I'm not going to play shopkeeper and I'm not going to make a cool ball run with scraps of cardboard.

And there will be no mud pie making at the mud pie station (that we won't be building). Or excavating different coloured objects from a very big block of ice.

(OK, so now you know what's on my Pinterest boards.)

I'm just doing the basics.

Until I get through this lull, all I can provide is love (a smidgen), food (cheesy jacket potatoes with tuna and broccoli) and cuddles (plenty) in front of Playschool. Oh, and a few stories.

That's it.

Sometimes, it isn't a question of whether we're doing enough messy play or enough baking. There's far too much pressure out there anyway for all-dancing, all-crafting mothers.

Sometimes (and very often), it's just about surviving.

My recipe: cuddles, simple nourishing food and our favourite Oliver Jeffers books.

What's yours?

My darling toddler. Taken when he wasn't throwing anything at anyone.

Congratulations to Tricia for winning my Australian Museum ticket giveaway. Thank you to everyone else who commented and entered.