organise

Organisation is a tricky beast.  I find I long to be both well organised with smoothly running systems and to be free to do what I want, when I want, in equal measure.  These two parts of my personality bicker, endlessly. However, it seems that my old life - which erred more on the free-to-be-me side - does not mesh well with my new, I-have-a-toddler-who-is-completely-dependent-on-me-for-his-well-being-and-requires-more-than-buttered-toast-to-survive life.

Enter the meal planner.

Of course, there was a degree of rebellion at first (my free-wheeling side was feeling pouty) but, by the weekend, order and systems reigned and a plan was devised.

There was even nuance - Meatless Monday remembered; Terrible Tuesday (where my OTL isn't home until late and I'm frazzled and looking for the hidden booze by 8.30pm) catered for; and Thick of Things Thursday (where there are a number of separate extra curricular activities planned for both parents and only one car to accomplish it all) smoothly accommodated.  All was going splendidly and To Plan, most importantly, until Tiny decided to help me unpack the groceries this afternoon.

Nine (9) (yes, that is nine, neuf, neun, nueve) cracked eggs later and our first ever family meal plan was necessarily abandoned.

No worries, mate.  Here's a little recipe we like to call Emma's Eight Egg (one was too far gone to be rescued) Corn, Peas, Sun Dried Tomatoes and Basil Slap Up, Last Minute, Winging It Frittata.

I knew my spontaneous side would find a way to have a say in the end.