Kids trying to teach ME how to cook

My kids are trying to teach ME how to cook!

Isn't that a hoot?

And who do THEY think taught THEM how to cook?

Here's how it worked at our house:

When life settled down a bit and we moved to the farm I bought a JOY OF COOKING cookbook (the bigmama of all cookbooks). Starting from the beginning, I read about fats and carbohydrates, about the economies of pressure cookers, hot pots, blender breakfasts. Calories and protein was next; what we need to eat and what we don't need to eat in a day. Making healthy snacks seemed important for me to learn. Next was how to construct a menu for a whole week, making sure we got enough protein, salads, fruits and veggies. All of that stuff. The kids already knew how to make cookies and cakes the way Mom had taught them. And I learned how to make shopping lists and how to keep things simple in the kitchen. And there were enough recipes in that book for a couple of lifetimes.

Shifting from a Mom-centered kitchen where she did most of the work was not easy. What's a kitchen without a Mom in it? Each of us had to get over their own kitchen-demons, mentally, physically or emotionally or we would starve to death.

Who is going to do all this cooking?

Everybody. It was well worth the effort of standing over a kid at the stove and reading directions to them from the JOY cookbook. Because soon it became fun to be "COOK OF THE WEEK." The designated "cook" received my undivided attention for that period of duty. They learned things that would serve them in becoming independent persons someday, about foods, nutrition and cooking. And they got happy applause from their family for making a good dish.

Kids and Kitchen chores

Each week, if you were not on duty as Cook, then you had another major responsibility in the kitchen. There was a chart listing each of the kitchen chores. And each week the kids would rotate. So if you were cooking this week, you did not wash dishes. And if you were the set-table and dry-dishes person you didn't do the other stuff.

Cooking duty: this meant you were involved, with me, in making the weekly menu on Sundays. This was followed by grocery shopping, me and the cook, and it was the cook's responsibility (to learn how) to stay within a budgeted amount of money. I didn't hear many complaints about being cook-of-the-week. It was the plum job in the kitchen.

The dreaded job: dishes. Maybe I understand why this was the most despised chore of the week. For one thing, the dishes person was last to leave the kitchen each night. Sure, everyone always helped "clear" the table after meals, so the washing dishes person began their chore when, often, the others were walking out of the room. Bummer! And maybe they also hated this chore because dishes had to be done to MY standards (not theirs). And they knew that if I found dirty dishes, then that person got to sharpen their cleanliness skills for a second week-in-a-row, a much dreaded consequence.

The setup and dry person: While we did not have a lot of visitors at the farm, the kids learned how to dress the table each day as if we were going to entertain company. I'm sure they viewed me, back then, as an unreasonable task master. Forks placed properly on the left, cloth napkins, appropriate table decor in the center, all of that. Today, if you visited one of their homes, you might well feel like honored company. You will find the forks appropriately on the left, cloth napkins, ... ! )))

Problems were not discussed at supper. I read someplace that talking about problems at the table was not good for digestion. And I intended supper time to be when we caught-up on each other's daily happenings. If there were issues to be confronted, supper was not the time to do so, nor were they dealt with soon before bedtime.

Am I sounding like a drill-sergeant to you, dear reader? I admit that I often was a tough parent. Feeling overwhelmed with the responsibility of being The Mom-Dad is an understatement, and there really were many times when I over compensated. Not only had the kids suffered the most traumatic loss anyone ever could, I was barely coping, myself.

For better or worse, the story of their childhoods had a happy ending: we all survived!

Now, in my senior years and living alone, there is a strong smell of roll-reversal in the air. They are trying to get me to take better care of myself. So they've teamed up against me again! (joke joke). They are now sending recipes to me, with instructions, that I am instructed to prepare on Sundays and then nibble-on through the following week! And even though I grump about it (just for effect), it does make me feel loved and cared for.

xoxo
Dad