REBECCA’S STORY
When I was growing up Mum was at the height of her fame. We were often shunted aside for an autograph, but she was always careful to make a game of it. If the staring became too much she would ask us, ‘Is my face turning green?’ It was our code for someone being too obtrusive and, in Mum’s usual magical way, it made it funny and OK.
Mum is a wit – she loves a good joke and a story. It’s probably what made her TV series That’s Life! so successful, as it combined her ability to uncover serious stories and then segue to rude vegetables. The show was our lives for a while and Mum, a notorious workaholic, would come home shattered. But she made sure it was in time for family supper, where she would ask about our day. I always wanted to entertain her in those precious moments, to make us worth leaving her exciting job. But my day was never that thrilling – how can a seven-year-old stand up to groundbreaking journalism that would change laws? So I would lie. I pretended we had multicoloured mashed potato for lunch or that our dog (a boy) had had puppies. Now I know that hearing your children excitedly describe true titbits from their day is wonderful and, in my case, rare. I work hard to get my boys to tell me anything about their school day.
My mother struggled to juggle motherhood and work. She’s told us of her guilt over leaving us with nannies. I would have liked her to be there for all the quiet times: the homework or the jigsaws. But she was always there when it mattered: every sports day, nativity play and parents’ evening, and she took us to school each day – driving us through traffic and singing merrily to rubbish tracks.
She was so wonderful we just wanted her around even more, whereas with my kids I quickly become frazzled by chores. I often forget that I could also be the magical mother, too. This year, with no birthday party entertainer on hand, I delighted my kids for hours with games, crafts and treats. Classic Rantzen-style mothering, but it was only one afternoon and then I was back in the zone of wiping and putting away.
Mothering is hard. And the addition of help (nannies, cleaners and more) meant my mother could succeed at work and home, whereas I have had to go part-time in order to do the wraparound childcare. Mum was also fulfilled in her career, which meant the happiness of parenting came more readily than it does to me. I often work from home so it’s incredibly isolating, and loneliness can creep in. This is tinged with guilt at having the most wonderful children but I sometimes wish I could be somewhere else, talking about something other than poo.
Mum was fantastic when I had my boys. She is a naughty and fun granny and they adore her, clamber all over her and demand that she make up poems about farting. She often talks about how her grandchildren (she has five now) give her great happiness, for which I am grateful, as the sunshine in her smile had noticeably dimmed since Dad died in 2000. I worry about her energy levels, but I see the way the children look at her and am reminded of how I felt as a child when she walked in the door, shed her day and launched into the laughter and magic that was uniquely hers. I hope she never stops.
Esther and Rebecca’s podcast, What’s the Use Of?, will launch later this year
1 medium egg
150ml skimmed milk pinch of sea salt
60g plain flour
10g unsalted butter, melted
Place the egg, milk and salt in a blender, add the flour and whiz until smooth. Scrape down any flour clinging to the sides, whiz again, then stir in the butter. You can also use a bowl and hand blender.
HOR
It may be easier to make a small quantity of batter (for the Pear Fritters or Sea Bass Goujons) by hand: whisk the egg in a small bowl, then sift and stir in the flour. Add the salt, mix to a lumpy dough. Gradually whisk in the milk until smooth and stir in the melted butter.
Now use it to create all these sweet and savoury dishes.
HH