Beck Vass: My Food Bag disaster

"Maybe they should do a My Food Bag called Parents Who Like To Eat Better Than Their Kids But Can't Really Be Arsed." Photo / Getty

My husband was away for the night and I was semi-planning fish and chips for dinner.

Then the kids had a fight. Our boy, 2, threw his older sister's toy down the stairs. She hit him. He screamed.

"That's IT. You kids are NOT getting chips for dinner!"

Yeah, I'd said it out loud. Idiot.

"We are! We want it!"

"Too bad! I warned you and you're still fighting. No chips!"

Why did I do that? Tonight of all nights? Now I'm going to either have to eat muesli or make the last My Food Bag dinner.

We choose the Gourmet version, not the family one, so the kids usually won't eat it because it's a bit fancy and not usually ready until well after they need to eat. It's also more fiddly.

As my boy ate plain rice (his request) and his four-year-old sister ate chicken pasta bake for the third night in a row, I mourned the loss of hot chips and began my overly complicated meal for one.

I put the kids in the shower to buy some time and returned to the kitchen to peel some veges and put them in the oven.

I hear screaming and run to the bathroom. "What? What's happened?"

"He has three toys and I need three toys!"

"So you need one more toy?"

"No, I need two toys." Sigh.

I run to get two toys and run back to the shower.

"I meant the Paw Patrol toys." Is there anything I do that pleases you? Seriously.

"These will have to do, I have to go back to the kitchen."

Great. The pot of boiling water is not boiling because I didn't ignite the gas.

More screaming. Back to the shower, more dispute resolution. Back to the kitchen. Repeat.

I concede defeat and pour the last glass of red wine from a bottle, desperately dangling the vessel for every last drop.

This shower is causing global warming.

I read the recipe for the 60th time.

My boy appears soaking wet so I sort him out.

The oven beeps. Whose stupid idea was this?

It's like an elimination episode of My Kitchen Rules. But my kitchen does not rule. This wine does though! God bless the Barossa Valley.

I am juggling: a hot pot of thickening sauce, salmon yet to be fried, quinoa that needs to steam for a bit which I burn my finger on and roast veges that need one more lot added.

And two toddlers.

My girl screams as if she has been set on fire.

"Hey! Stop making the dinner! My hair is wet! My hair is wet!"

Why did I share this wine with my husband last night?

I turn the TV on to cartoons and rush to dry her hair.

Back to the kitchen. Check recipe AGAIN.

An entire pot of sauce was just for a vinaigrette. One vegetable was just for serving.

Desperate mums don't need dressings or anything "for serving"! We don't do anything for appearance anymore. Those luxuries were lost a long time ago.

I drop a vege on the floor and put it on my plate anyway. Hygiene also departed some time back.

I glance at the kids: TV zombies.

Maybe they should do a My Food Bag called Parents Who Like To Eat Better Than Their Kids But Can't Really Be Arsed.

God, this wine is good.

I'll be doing dishes until midnight but at least I got to eat.