I laughed tonight, when I heard the thank you’s from my three girls as we gathered around the dinner table, and they went: “Thanks so much Mom, for the meal tonight.” I said to them: “I am so glad you appreciate my microwave-heating-up technique; this is really pathetic.”
And they said: “We appreciate that YOU did the heating up”.
Now of course, I feel pathetic about the fact that easily, two to three nights out of the week, I give them money for pizza to get from downstairs, (one of the benefits of being in NYC), or they are responsible for foraging on their own.
I would love to envision myself as that ‘all round Mom’ who, despite working a fair amount, still manages to do all of those great motherly things. My own mother was an amazing gourmet cook, who spent large amounts of time creating amazing meals that we savored.
I shake my head in complete wonderment at those Moms who show up at afterschool pickup with the perfect snacks, and beverages, while my kid is going: “What do you have, Mom?” (Nothing, usually, who remembers? Or has time?! This is where my multi-tasking efforts fail me. Too often.)
I am so not that Mom with the tupperware containers in the playground. Nor even the Mom with at least something for their kid to snack on. Okay, sometimes I do remember, I confess. But truthfully, I am terrible with food. I hate preparing food, I hate shopping for food, and I hate figuring out what to feed my family. I am better at other things. This is not my forte, I gotta say.
I do however, love to eat. Love, love, love, to eat food. The wacky part of all of this, aside from the fact that alot of my professional life is spent talking about food, is that my kids, probably because of this, love to cook. They love to eat well. They want to eat healthily, and have gotten me to buy organic, help them to eat less junk food, less sugar, and look at ingredients.
I think this must skip a generation. Or it is reverse psychology without trying. But sometimes, our kids really do take in things we want to give them while we feel like we are failing. The joke in our house, when my husband had more time, since he does love to prepare and cook, (he is much more patient person than me), was always: “Girls can cook too!”
So there you go. Without trying, they do it. They will turn into beautiful chefs. Then their kids can be like me.