The less you have to do, the less you do. I am dangling on the laziness precipice and struggling to pull myself back into the land of the active and purposeful. I’m not lazy in the sense of sitting in front of the tv eating cheatos all day – I do eat the cheatos but the tv only shows Indonesian soaps so that’s a no go.
And I am out a lot – sampling my way through Ubud’s 1001 culinary establishments. But in terms of the little things I’m just lazy. I fully admit it.
6pm came around again. My inner dialogue went like this:
Urgh, guess I’d better make some dinner for lula. Maybe I should just order a pizza – what’s the point she won’t eat it – what’s in the fridge? Ok, nothing. What happened to the potatoes? Did kadek use them already? Maybe she took them for her pig. Omelette? Can three year olds get cholesterol problems? No. No more eggs. What’s in the cupboard? Ok. Rice noodles. That’ll do. Maybe with some oil. We don’t have oil. Huh. Ew it’s filthy up here. Can a mouse climb this high? Is this mouse poo? Oooh what’s this? Tuna. Ok rice noodles and tuna it is. Maybe with sweetcorn? No that’s totally gross. Is that totally gross? Would that just be like tuna sweetcorn pasta? Oh let’s just forget the sweetcorn because it’s two cans to open. Crap where’s the can opener? Oh here it is. Damn this thing who the hell thought to design a can opener like this? Is it even a can opener? Hmmmm. Oh I give up. Maybe John can figure it out. Why is he banging it like that? Clearly that’s not going to work. Ok I’ll take it to Jay. Maybe he can figure out how to use it. No it’s not a pair of scissors – gees. Right finally. One can of tuna….hmmm, this doesn’t look so appetising. Maybe if I spludge it up a bit, mix it in. No. Doesn’t taste so good. Why am I so rubbish at this? I used to be able to cook. How about salt? Salt could work. Is salt bad for three year olds? All those organic baby foods say No Salt. But how do they make it taste good? This tastes bad. It requires salt. I can’t put chilli in it. Huh. That’s going to have to do. It’s not so bad. yes it is. It’s really bad. but maybe they won’t notice.
I carry the wok thing around to Natasha’s where the children are watching A Bug’s Life. Natasha stares at the gloopy gelatinous mess of rice noodles decorated with lumps of tuna.
‘Here, let me cut up some baguette to go with that,’ she says, ‘Boys, dinner time, Sarah’s made lovely noodles with Tuna. And here’s the bread – see, it’s just like a restaurant.’
She peers over my shoulder as I try to ladle the noodles into separate bowls but this is proving difficult because they’re stuck together like a rasta dread.
‘A third world restaurant,’ she mutters. We giggle.
‘Oh god, I don’t know why I even bother any more,’ I say. ‘I’m such a rubbish mother. I can’t even cook.’
We plonk three bowls in front of the kids. Lula manages 3 slices of baguette and two mouthfuls of noodles. The boys don’t even make it to the table.