My parents came on Saturday and leave tomorrow. It’s been going pretty well. As is typical, I stress out about the cleaning and cooking before they come and when they get here, it’s not so bad. I tend not to tell them what I’m making for supper until they ask, because I don’t want to know if it’s something they think they won’t like. Last night (when asked) I told them we were having chicken and lentil curry with roti and my Dad had his neutral look. The look where he’s thinking he not going to like it, but thankfully is too polite to actually say it. And here I am thinking, What don’t you like? Do we not like lentils now, is that it?
But everyone agreed the meal was fabulous, and I was very proud of myself to tell my father, “And you didn’t think you would like it. I could see it in your eyes.” He admitted he had been skeptical, although I am still confused as to what seemed odd. This is, after all, the man who made me eat dal at the tender age of 4. I detested the lentils so much that I feigned I had to go to the bathroom, where I prayed very earnestly to God to take my lentils away. Alas, when I came back they were still there–and now cold to boot.
Nova has been less fussy, both yesterday and today. My parents actually got to hold her without her screaming bloody murder. And Iain has been great with her, probably because he is not afraid of the balance ball. Bouncing on the ball with the baby has been the only sure-fire way to quiet her when she is upset. When we were making dinner last night, I had Leif as my sous-chef and Iain and I kept switching out–I would nurse as needed, and Iain would bounce as needed. All this while chopping garlic, onions, chicken, making rice, and pan-frying the roti.
The bread I’ve been making from the new book has been a hit. I made two loaves of brioche–I wanted to make when people were here, so I wouldn’t eat it all. And then the roti, of course. Today I think we’ll make individual flatbread pizzas with the olive oil dough I have in the fridge.