...our daily bread...
OK, confession time. I am a tired, beaten-down mother. Once I was a young, principled mother, and my oldest children only ever ate wholemeal bread. Sometimes home made. No matter how much they whined. At some point the whining wore me down, and now I buy white. sliced. plastic-wrapped. so-called. sandwich. loaf. I don't eat it myself, because I don't consider it real bread, but I feed it to the children.
So, yes, Bad Mummy. Feel free to click over to a blog where the mummy isn't killing the children by inches with empty carbohydrates.
We need better bread. And we need bread without plastic bags, because those bags aren't going to be recycled, or end up anywhere but landfill. I'm not entirely sure how the children are going to deal with this. But I will try. We started a couple of nights ago. For six months Posy has been going to a dance class nearby, and for six months we have been planning to walk there and home together. Every week for SIX months there has been some extenuating circumstance which meant we have driven - inclement weather, pressing engagements before, after or during class. But this week, we walked. It was lovely and sunny going, dark and delightfully spooky coming home. We walked by the gourmet deli down the road, and bought their last half-loaf of locally baked wholemeal. It was wrapped up in tissue paper, and Posy surreptitiously gouged out handfuls to eat on the way home. Her first wholemeal bread experience for quite some time. She loved it. Perhaps because it was dark, we were walking, she was being 'naughty', we were giggling. She also ate a bit next day for breakfast before she went back to plastic slice.
Then yesterday my mum sent an email answering my question about food packaging when she was young. This bit made me so happy:
I remember when I was young we bought bread from the deli with just a piece of tissue paper around it, 2 opposite corners brought to the top and secured with sticky tape. This meant that when it was a half loaf you could ‘straighten’ the open end where the loaf had been broken (not cut) in half, eating it as you walked home.
I am loving that my mum and my daughter get the same wonderful childhood memories sixty years apart.