A Day in My life

Church service ends at 12pm. Most of the time.

This Sunday, I boil white rice in the morning before we leave, so we can have rice and stew when we get back. I never make lunch before church on Sundays. I know it’ll make Sunday afternoon easier, but I have a lot to get done on Sunday mornings. The food timetable on the fridge says “fresh tomato rice” but I don’t want to do that after church today. I started reading a Marian Keyes book on Saturday night and I want to get home, feed my offspring and lie in bed reading till my head aches.

There’s stew in the fridge. There’s always stew in the fridge. I just don’t like rice and stew very much. Maybe because I grew up eating it a lot. The food timetable has rice varieties for lunch every Sunday, but no rice and stew. Never rice and stew. 

Wow! This is a new record for digression! But all is well that provides context.

Back to the picture.

We get home, I heat up the stew, and serve everyone food. Except myself.

You see, at church and on the way home, I'd been thinking about something i could make with the rice that could save me from the stew. I have nothing against the stew. It’s a good stew. But I'm in the mood for something more. Something, dare I say, elevated. 

It’s been a few minutes since i served everyone their food. I’m hungry, achy, and I'm getting a little lightheaded. I should probably eat the easy meal that’s right there. Wrong! I’ll never do such a thing. I can’t bring myself to eat the rice and stew, so I have to find something that does not require me to buy anything, and works with the already cooked white rice in the pot.

I have some cabbage in the fridge. I could make a cabbage sauce thing. But that would need broth. I have no broth. That’s fine. I wasn’t feeling like sauce anyway.

A few minutes of tiktok scrolling brings me to the infamous chinese fried rice. I see it all the time. I like it, but I always make the Naija style fried rice which requires cooking the rice in broth. I have no broth. I’ve never made this style of fried rice because I'm not sure how my housemates would react to fried rice not cooked in broth. But now, I only have myself to think of. Look at that!

I have everything I need; except soy sauce and oyster sauce. That’s fine. I don’t care much for those anyway. Oyster is a weird thing to make a sauce from, and how do you make a sauce from soybeans? Something’s missing from that story.

To the matter at hand. I begin to make chinese fried rice with eggs and veggies and stuff and things. The cabbage comes in handy. Good old cabbage.

About 2 hours after I got in from church, my food was ready. Time to eat, finally. Right? Wrong.

I feel that the cabbage which was added last to the rice will benefit from a little steaming in the heat from the rice. I’m right. Also, I'm hungry. I decide to do the dishes. Why not? It’s good to have clean dishes. Yes, my brother said he’d do it soon, he just needed to rest his back for a bit. I completely understand. Also, I think I should do them.  My head aches, so does my back. But those dishes. I’d really hate to leave them there.

3 hours after I got home from church, I head upstairs with a plate of lovely fried rice and a glass of chilled iced tea. All is well with the world. Right? Wrong. 

Offspring number 1 is building a military tank right in front of my bedroom door. It looks like a robot skeleton. He says it’s a military tank. It’s a military tank. Offspring number 2 is supposed to be taking a nap but hops out of bed as soon as she hears my voice. I tell them to build the tank together but don’t come knocking on my door and don’t make noise because your baby brother is asleep. They say OK. Actually, they shout OK. They shout OK very loud the minute I open my bedroom door. Offspring number 3 is awakened. He’s screaming his head off. I get him out of his crib. He stinks. It’s poop. I get the diaper and the wipes and change the poopy diaper then put him on the floor to play. He’s in a much better mood. I turn around. Offspring number 2 is standing on a stool preparing to do a superhero jump from the stool to the bed. She’s too short to make it work. She doesn’t know that. I scoop her off the stool and realise her diaper is full. That’s fine. Quick diaper change. Right? Wrong. It’s a whole lot of poop. It’s coming out of the sides. It’s mixed in with pee so it’s like paint. This is not a job for wipes. It’s a bathroom thing. 

Bath time. I spray water on her face. She giggles. I laugh. What an idyllic scene! Fresh diapers on. All is well.

I take a breath. Pick up my book, sit down. Time to eat.

The fried rice is cold. The iced tea is warm. Offspring number 3 unplugs the fan.

This is my life. I might be the problem. Part of the problem. A small percentage. But if life is worth living, then it is worth enjoying. And Chinese fried rice on a hot Sunday afternoon is my way of enjoying life, not just living it. That's the story I'm going with.

Recipe for tomato rice.

Pretend you’re making jollof rice, but don’t make jollof rice. Do not use any tomato paste. Don’t puree your tomatoes either. Blend roughly or slice. Blend roughly. Along with some tatashe and regular schmegular peppers. Resist the urge to put in jollof spices. Keep it simple. No coloring things. Fry your tomato things along with onions, thyme, ginger, garlic. No curry powder. No need for broth either but you probably won't go to jail for putting it in. Probably. Leave some fresh tomatoes for scattering on top like seeds when you’re done cooking.

It’s basically jollof rice. But not.

You’re welcome.