There’s a stereotype that says that Jewish mothers are constantly overfeeding their children. Greek and Italian mothers have an almost identical stereotype.

But I submit that all mothers are food pushers.

When my kids eat, I lose my mind with happiness.

Zee is one year old and a few months back, the sight of him gnawing away at a lamb chop almost reduced me to tears.

LD is three and a half and weighs approximately two and half kilos more than his infant brother. Today he ate a mouthful of Weetbix and milk, three dry Cruskits and a banana chip. I worry constantly about his tiny appetite.

And I am disturbingly envious of how skinny his thighs are.

But I digress.

Food. I love when my kids eat it.

Maybe it will be like sleep though – when they’re teenagers I’ll complain they have far too much of it.

But for now, if my kids aren’t sleeping, I’d like them eating.

On a warm spring day last November, B and I sliced up a watermelon and together, the family M-G sat around and ate it. All four of us. And it just filled me up with joy. Ridiculous, quick-I’d-better-get-the-camera joy.

Yes, it's the simple things.

Except the things that used to be simple and are not so simple anymore.

Oh, dining out! How I miss thee….

Oh, eating my dinner warm and without interruption! We had some good times, you and I…..

Oh, chicken parma and pot at the pub! We'll be together again soon. Wait for me, won't you?

Dining out is a trip through the McDonald's drive-thru. But at least it's a night off from cooking.

Glass half full, people. Glass half full.