Tips for the time-poor

THERE'S no shame in being domestically disastrous.

THE women in the chap's office are extremely concerned. They've read about his wife's general hopelessness in the domestic department, and are rallying - offering to cook meals for the family, no less. The chap's mortified.

"Take them," I'm begging. "Have you no shame?" "Nope." Because they're my saviour. As are the many people who responded to a recent column on domestic failings with their own tales of woe yet warmth, making me feel a lot less isolated in the imperfect-parenting stakes.

Favourite birthday idea? "The Working Mum's Cake. A tub of ice cream tipped upside down on a plate and decorated with as much confectionery as you can. Bung on a few candles. By the time it starts to melt it'll look more homemade than ever." Brilliant, and exactly the effect I'm after. Other tips for the time- and oven-challenged: "Grated cheese on fish fingers." "Porridge with banana for dinner." "Apple and cheese quesadillas: Two tortillas, sliced apple, grated cheese. Whack it all in sandwich press and Sunday night's sorted." "The slow cooker - throw anything in and something edible will emerge." "Scrambled eggs, although I've been known to do boiled eggs so I don't have to wash a pan." "An old standby: two-minute noodles and cut-up apple." "Frozen spinach cooked with cottage cheese, yoghurt and nutmeg." As one mum said, "I have to remind myself that every meal doesn't need to be a gourmet event." And another, "I rarely go to great effort now because cooking better-than-average meals takes too long, requires too much washing up and the fussy ones complain."

Then there's the poor bloke who was a victim every school lunchtime of his mother's labour-saving innovation. "Instead of making sandwiches on a breadboard with the inevitable spill-over of crumbs, she decided to spread out the day's newspaper. Then, directly on the newsprint, she'd make lunch. That way, afterwards, she could just wrap up the bits and throw the lot in the bin. All very ingenious. Except the bread was marked by newsprint ink and I was literally eating that day's news." Another wrote of a lifelong aversion to choko after growing up in Newcastle (I can relate: my Newy nan had a vine and contrived to put that vile, watery vegetable into seemingly everything.) "Mum, exercising all her 'meat and three veg' cooking skills, boiled the green choko pieces - think boiled zucchini, only more anaemic-tasting to the power of 10. The name says it all: choko. As a result of this childhood trauma whenever I stumble over them now I feel sea sick."

The time-saving ingenuity of Australia's mothers extends far beyond the kitchen. Nit-prevention tips: "Store brushes in the freezer" and "the little buggers hate dirty hair and gel". This one sounds more promising: "From my mum - 'put on your tomorrow clothes'. i.e. dress kids at night in clothes for the next day. They're only going to sleep and all my boys look like they slept in their clothes anyway. So who's to know that this time it's true? School polo shirts are perfectly resilient. Saves time in the a.m., and saves on washing." New discoveries: Baby in high chair in front of the telly, watching The Voice, rapt, with the other kids, while mum's tidying up after dinner. When writing: baby in net-enclosed trampoline with kitchen utensils. Perfect playpen, and it might just instil an interest in cooking because, after all, the troupe needs training up. ("No, not by you, please," the chap's pleading.)

A reader suggests that a compendium of embarrassing parent stories should be mandatory in all hospital bounty bags given to new parents. "It'd prevent much early parenting angst and give people a reason to laugh, which is so often needed among the domestic disaster." Oh yes. And that was a common theme among the responses: families that are time-poor but giggle-rich. "We do laugh, sing and dance a lot - that's gotta count for something, right?" Absolutely my friend, absolutely.

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