There's another reason I won't win The Mother of the Year Award any time soon.
I hate cooking.
I have been very vocal about this and anyone who knows me knows that I really am not all about being a slave to the stove.
Let me clarify a little for you. There's a difference between hating cooking and being able to cook. I can cook and I do it very well. I have no choice about it. My DNA set that standard a long time ago. I've said for years that my Mama is Emeril's relative. That woman can cook anything she wants. I can't tell you how many times she's made something that was just amazing....and we never see it again. She just wanted to try it. It was good and she moved on. My brother is an amazing cook. He LOVES to cook. I haven't tasted anything bad he's cooked yet.
Small aside here: I saw a recipe for Shepherd's Pie. I have never had that particular dish. It looked simple enough. I called my mother to ask her a question about it and she said she's never made it so she didn't know. What??? I asked what was up with that?? Why hadn't she made this dish before?? Know what she said to me? Make it and let her know how it turns out, she might just try it herself. *shocked face* Like I, the daughter of The Great Cook, would DARE think I could put myself on the same level as her. I made it, it was good, and I called her right on up and told her to try it. That was like a shining moment or something for me. Sad, huh? (For all of you getting ready to express shock over my not ever having had this dish? Save it. I had to try so many other dishes growing up, it's not even funny. I have to forgive my Mama for not doing that particular one.)
Me? Eh, not so much. I have some good dishes that make my children skip when they find out I'm cooking them. I get effusive compliments at the table during most meals. (I'm still not sure if they're genuine or if my people don't want to cook, either.)
I get tired of the same old stuff week after week. I told my husband that the ONE thing that drives me crazy about being a wife and mother is the meal planning. Ohhhh, how I hate meal planning. I don't mind grocery shopping, but I do mind the planning of meals and making the list. Nothing irritates me more than for a kid to say, "Humph, I didn't want THAT for supper." Oh, really, Sweet Child of Mine? My eyebrow goes up and gets lost in my hair and I stare at that sweet child until they start eating. (This works with the girls-not The Boy so much-he's a stubborn one, that kid.)
Last week I sat down with some of my cook books to see if I could get some new fresh ideas. I swear to you, it was torture. I HATE doing that. I told both Carla and Mama that if I was ever captured and my captors wanted to torture me? Make me browse cookbooks. Both laughed at me because that's one of their greatest pleasures. Both of them could sit for hours and look at recipes and probably make all of them with finesse.
I told The Man the other day while making a meal that I have visions of one day...when the nest is empty.....of us eating out at night. Every night. I can dream, right? I'm not saying it'll happen that way, but that thought sees me through.
I also feel I shouldn't have to suffer alone. I make meal preparation time a family deal. (minus The Boy-he's not ready yet) All of us are active and helping with some aspect of it. I buy simple biscuit mixes so that Makenna can fully prepare that side on her own. She's become right skilled about it. Paige can prepare meats and even cook them on her George Foreman grill. The Man is the runner and helps with heavy dishes out of the oven, makes tea, and lets me know if my seasoning is right in sauces. I guess that means I incorporate child labor? I look at it as I'm preparing my children to one day be on their own. At least I'll know they won't starve, except by choice.
Again, I miss out on that elusive award. Really, though, doesn't that make me normal? Seriously, who truly loves every single aspect of their jobs? I believe, in the long run, I'm just like everyone else. Making it day by day.....meal by meal.