This is the story of two big cooking days. The first is pictured here. Saturday was a good food day, a good food-making day anyway. Good tasting food might be pushing it further than I honestly should.
Saturday we went on a tear and prepped veggies and browned meat and roasted some chicken. Made oven bacon. That last one was an experiment that worked. I even tossed it in the freezer afterwards to have handy for salads. But then I ate much of it. Anyway, on with the story.
The littles wander in and out during these sessions. They always get an apron and kid-safe tools and find some way they can contribute. They stay as long as they like, Montessori style. They chop things into teeny pieces, hold bags open, grate cheese, beat eggs. This was one of those blissful moments.
Tonight was less blissful – for me.
Riding on the high of that proactive cooking day I volunteered to take a new mom a dinner tomorrow.
Tomorrow being a feast day.
Tomorrow being the day the giant poodle puppy gets neutered.
Tomorrow being the day after he slopped around in the post-snow mud.
I thought I was making it easy on myself and the new family by getting pasta and jarred sauce. A cake mix. It ended up being a long, long day though. Tess and I went out together to shop for craft supplies between carpool runs. Dinner ran late. Puppy bathing seems to last forever.
Long story shorter, by nights' end the kitchen looked like a pasta bomb went off. I misjudged the amount of sauce I needed. Too much bumping around in the kitchen caused the cupcakes to sink. Wet puppy escaped from the bathroom and sailed by, shaking everywhere and sending a spray of water droplets in all directions.
It was then I was holding the Christmas themed Saran wrap. The festive red plastic from hell that clings to nothing but itself. It did just that as I tugged at it 'til my fingers grazed the jagged edge of the box. My surrender was complete. Defeat.
At moments like these every wistful comment I have ever heard from women about the way to a man's stomach or love being food or any number of stirring (no pun intended) odes to food come back to taunt me. I can't love my family well if this is the yardstick we are using. It's never been my skillset. Frankly I don't like food well enough to rally to the challenge. So many other things I am passionate about distract me that I often forget to eat. It is torture to be tied to the kitchen mixing and measuring when we could be reading or walking or crafting.
And that's ok. Somewhere along the line I accepted that being a good wife and a good mom meant I was good at this too. But there are lots of ways to love. Love here means we buy tons of veggies, fruit, nuts, and quality dairy. We stew natural meats in the crock pot where I can't screw them up. We set a pretty table. Always. We eat simply but we do it together every night. Then we move it all over and pray around the same table. That counts.
Tomorrow afternoon I am going back to the grocery store to get a slow roasted chicken, a tub of coleslaw, some bread, a pie from the bakery and a bottle of sparkling cider to celebrate. There will be flowers for their table. Then we will head over, smell that baby's head and hand it all over. And I will not call it defeat.
Starry Sky Journal 
I love the thought of you winging the Saran wrap (sorry you cut yourself). I have spent most of my married life trying to “cook” my husband’s love. His mother cooked, his grandma cooked, and so I cooked. If I had back even a fraction of the time I’ve spent at the stove — well, I could do something great.
This past Sunday was the last straw. It was supposed to be family dinner and my husband invited his mom as well. I made ice cream the day before, cake in the morning, homemade bread, and was in the middle of two side dishes when first my married son texted — texted! — to say they weren’t going to make it — they were too tired to come (to eat a dinner someone else prepared — I don’t get that), and then my mother-in-law texted (again — texted!) to say she had a headache and she wouldn’t be coming (and if I had a nickle for every time that happened I could have eaten a lobster dinner out). I told my husband that’s the last family dinner for quite a while, and we are going to be eating a lot more simply around here. I just have to learn how to do that.
Amen and amen! A beautiful post I needed to read.
Blessings, Darla
Such a wise mama you are! While cooking is my thing, my sister-in-law despises it. I tell her how sad it is that she doesn’t properly appreciate food, lol. Like you, she doesn’t care much about eating. We were discussing this together recently. Why should she feel obligated to bring food to a get-together when she will be taking pictures the entire time, going home to edit them and then gifting them to the crowd? That is her first love and strong suit. Use the gift God gave you!
Oh Kim! I’m so sorry for your angst but being able to change your attitude in the face of all that frustration is a total victory! You know, those Saran boxes are enough to be the last straw for me just on their own (sans wet dog and sunken cupcakes). I love cooking and baking but funnily enough, a similar thing happened about 16 years ago when I was also making a dinner for a family with a new baby. I picked up gyros for them from the food court at the mall (so I applaud your flowers and sparkling cider generosity). Just the other day, (after her daughter’s 16th birthday) my friend mentioned remembering that meal and how much it meant to her… even though I couldn’t tell you what the specific cause of the kitchen frustration actually was anymore.
“The festive red plastic from hell…” ROFL! I wish you lived nearby; I’d cook for you, and you could craft for me. :o)
“It is torture to be tied to the kitchen mixing and measuring when we could be reading or walking or crafting.”
This. We’re a whole-foods, make-from-scratch family, and I do not enjoy one moment of it! I’ve been told I’m a great cook, and get requests for various favourites, but it’s a struggle to convince myself that it’s worth the time it takes away from everything else. But, I have a son who is studying culinary arts and always the top of his class, and he says it was my cooking that sparked his interest in food. So there’s that
Oh dear, I’m the opposite, most of the time. Baking and cooking usually do well. Craft projects often leave me blinking back tears or swearing. 🙂 But I press on because I want to make things, I just try to stay within my very small borders of ability. Very small. Thanks for sharing this story.