The clouds slung low and grey when I awoke and the wind blew cool air through the house. It had rained for several days, making paths slimy and everything damp. It also meant that mothball-smelling cardies were finding their way out of the winter bags and back onto our backs for this wintry MamaBake session. Cool and damp make for perfect conditions for a group, big-batch cookery session; for the oven to work tirelessly for a few hours chucking out warm, home-y baking smells. I was jazzed and looking forward to the house coming alive.
I was expecting six women to my house and, while in the past I would have been dashing around hiding any sign of real life, today I went about making chai and chopping potatoes, ignoring the baskets of laundry lurking in the lounge. MamaBakers aren’t interested in the state of one another’s houses. It’s a small gesture of rebellion in this age of facade that has gathered destructive momentum amongst the mothering community of nonsensical competition and ‘you are the state of your house.’ The washing stayed put where it was and lightning didn’t strike.
The women started to arrive at 10:30 a.m. Mama S arrived first with her boy baby and a huge pot of chicken soup. She plopped her baby down for a sleep and got the pot on the stove to simmer. Mama C was just behind her and walked in smiling with her little man slung on one hip and a box full of herbs, roots, and Thai condiments on the other. She strode in and pulled out a three-foot Vietnamese Mint plant she had dragged from her friend’s ground just 30 minutes before. “Get it in the ground Missus, it’s still got its roots on!”.
I made a pot of chai while we waited for the other women to arrive and we talked about traveling with family, 80-litre camping fridges, and the brutality of the ravenous, unrelenting mosquitoes dotting and bouncing off the glass door outside. Within an hour, the three other women had arrived – one, who was eight months pregnant with her fifth baby, had slipped on my slimy path. We sat her down, cooing over her and made her strong sweet English Breakfast tea. She had cut her hand and her tail bone was bruised, but she felt okay. She gestured toward a small pot on the table and told me that it was noodles she had scraped up after she had fallen and that maybe the parrots might like to eat them.
Mama C was making a chicken larb; a beautiful Thai chicken salad. She and her little son chatted quietly as they chopped lemongrass stalks, peeled garlic, and plucked keffir lime leaves for the sauce. The aromas were something else. I had made a sausage and potato goulash which was bubbling sweetly on the stove top. Meat and potatoes — the weather had cooled dramatically over the past few weeks and with so many English women in this particular group, meat and taties had to make an appearance.
Mama E, recovered from the shock of falling, sat rolling a thousand spring rolls while Mama A sat chatting with her about children. Mama A had pre-prepared her dish of prawn jambalaya. Pre-preparing a big batch meal before the session is a popular option with some women some of the time. This gives you the golden pass straight to the chai and cake when you arrive. Mama K had pre-prepared hers, also — a Thai chicken soup — and was sitting with the kids reading them stories while us other woman gathered,sometimes cackling, sometimes talking in low voices, over the stove and herb strewn work surfaces.
One of our usual Mamas couldn’t make it this day, working long hours all week, so we made sure that what we made went a little bit further for her.
Finally, at about 1 p.m., we lined up the pots and the grand divvy up began. The sweet level of chaos of the morning now ramped up 1000% with ladles and large spoons being handed about, takeaway containers being flung here and there, splatters of sauces flying up the fronts of Mamas and bairns. Mamas checked on each other ensuring that each had their share before she took hers.
And then… calm.
Everyone had their boxes of MamaBake takeaways, neat and perfect, ready to be brought home and stashed in the fridge for the coming week. Happy and content, the Mamas took their leave, and even after they had gone, the atmosphere they had created hung brightly in my home.
Much like every other day of a mother’s existence, the energy of a MamaBake session is much like the glorious, wild, enlivening chaos of white water rapids — keeping our heads up, chatting as we go, holding on, up and down, around the rocks, whooping and tooting, and then into the calm pool where everything makes sense and all is well.
MamaBake means that each mother goes home with a variety of home- cooked meals for a few nights of the week, giving her some well-needed time off. It also means that on a regular basis we know that, whatever has gone on in the week, there will be a point in time where we can be in the warm embrace of our MamaSisters who get us, who get the turbulent journey of motherhood, who get the ups and downs, all wrapped in a safe, loving place where we can over-share til our heart’s content.
This wonderful website made me cry. The support and compassion is so evident – my own experience of a ‘mothers’ group’ was miserable. As an older mum who struggled to conceive and could only have one child, I didn’t have a lot in common with the other mums. There was so much pressure to fit in and relentless underlying competition. I finally bowed out fifteen years later, struggling with my self-esteem and making regular visits to a psychologist. How different it could have been if I’d found a group like this.