The little girl on the left is me.
The woman rocking the electric pink t-shirt and bangs on the right, is my mum, Susie.
The photo was probably taken when I was around three or four years old. We’re planting something in the veggie garden at home – probably carrots – back in the day when veggie patches were less designer wooden boxes and more just a pile of dirt in the ground.
I love this photo. Mostly because it represents everything my childhood was about – love, food and quality time with my mama.
Just as an FYI, you should know that this post is sponsored by Love Beets Baby Beetroot. But all opinions expressed by the author are 100 per cent authentic and written in their own words.
Mum is a cook by trade. And a bloody good one at that. You remember that chef who used to go around snooping through people’s trolley at the supermarket, then go home to their kitchens and somehow be able to create something incredible using three green beans, a slice of ham and a can of spaghetti? Mum’s like that when it comes to the kitchen fridge. Give her four random ingredients and she’ll whip something up that’s worthy of a Michelin Star.
When I was growing up, there was always something boiling on the stove or baking in the oven. A chicken pie. A batch of scones. Soup to get the entire family through the week. I remember spending hours sitting on the kitchen bench, eating the corners off a block of cheese and just talking to mum as she brought together whatever delicious creation was on the menu that day.
So who would have guessed that that little girl – the one who gardened with her mum and could rattle off the ingredients needed for a white sauce at the age of 10 – would have grown up to eat cereal for dinner at least five nights a week?
Yes, cereal for dinner. Why? So many reasons. It was delicious, cheap, required no brain power or time to prepare AND only left me with one bowl and one spoon to clean.