What to do with a small boy who is twisty, tired and hungry and it’s still only 11 am? The answer is do a bit of cooking, surprisingly. I came across the My Daddy Cooks blog last February, when we were thinking of weaning Fitz, and was encouraged to see how a baby led approach had worked out for them. Nick and Archie seemed to have such fun hanging out in the kitchen, and Archie was willing to try anything and everything. This was the kind of adventurous attitude I wanted for my child.

Fast forward fifteen months, and I find myself in an embarrassing rut when it comes to feeding the wee one. Yes he loves pesto, and yes, it’s Double Gloucester not mild cheddar, but otherwise I seem to be presenting the same things again and again. Perhaps this is a problem that hits all mothers if they stay at home and by default become responsible for the meals, laundry, house cleaning. Inertia, boredom.

So today we made bready scrolls, a recipe taken from the My Daddy Cooks cookbook. More accurately I made an omlette first to quell the screaming, and then we made bready scrolls. It’s a great name for what is essentially a savoury sliced swiss roll, made with a quick dough and whatever you fancy putting into it.

Fitz helped me rub in the butter, and then started wiping flour over his face. Then he helped grate the cheese, which he loved doing. This is just as well, since he then proceed to eat a lot of it while watching me finish off the dough. My filling was pesto and Double Gloucester, unsurprisingly, and once we’d rolled it up and sliced it, Fitz was delighted to brush the scrolls with milk.

Sadly they weren’t cool enough for him to eat before his nap, and besides, he had already had some omlette, a small cheese mountain and a fair punnet of strawberries, but we passed a happy hour noodling in the kitchen together and there wasn’t even that much mess. Except on his face.

On his behalf I’m very happy to report that they are delicious, and they will be brilliant for shoving into the rucksack for a snackbreak in the park. Much less trouble than scones, or baking bread, and there’s a nice glow of satisfaction to be had from making something new. I could go on about how guilty I feel for not being able to come up with things like this for myself, or for getting into a dreadful rut in the first place, but I just don’t have the time. Better that I keep quiet and eat another one instead.