When I was a kid, I remember that my mother hated 2 things. Distinctly, 2 things. My mother is sweet and kind. She is the type of person that everyone wants to be friends with because she is so sweet and kind. She likes Panda Bears and Figure Skating and being around her family. She is not loud and in your face. She's quiet and unassuming. She writes in her journal daily and reads her scriptures. She is everything that a wonderful, sweet and kind mother should be...
So it was always very disturbing and puzzling to me that there could possibly be anything in this world that my mother hated. How could something so sweet and kind conjure up any feelings even remotely resembling hate? It's a puzzlement.
The two things in the world she hates are as follows (and I'm not sure in what order they fall):
1. Someone tapping her on the shoulder
2. and the question: "What's for dinner?"
I can remember dancing around the house and tip-toeing through the kitchen (because walking on hardwood required me to be on my tip-toes), and revelling in my glorious life and my sweet kind mother. And then someone would come up behind her and tap her on the shoulder to get her attention...
"I hate being tapped on the shoulder. Please don't tap me on the shoulder. Call my name. Say excuse me. Blow a horn, whatever. Just please, PLEASE, don't. tap. my. shoulder."
And everyone would turn their heads in puzzlement and wonder, "What's up with sweet, kind mom?" and then dance away.
And all would be sweet and kind and right with the world again.
Then, someone would come into the kitchen and say, "Hey mom?" (minus the tapping), "What's for dinner?"
And my sweet, kind mother, who was usually in the middle of chopping or stirring, or seasoning something would stop. She'd sigh and her shoulders would slump and she would answer in one of two ways:
Option A: "Food." Which would never satisfy and usually ended up in a string of more questions, such as, "What kind of food?" "What do you mean?" "But what are we HAVING?" and so more often then not, she would skip option A and go straight to option B
which was:
Option B: "I hate that question." And the asker would walk away...in a puzzlement. "How could my sweet kind mother hate anything? It's just a question."
I was in this pattern of puzzlement for most of my life. Skipping and dancing around in a world unaware that a mother could possibly find anything that a child does annoying. And then, just a few weeks ago, I was standing in the kitchen, chopping, or stirring, or seasoning something when one of my glorious offspring came in and said, "Mom, what's for dinner?"
I sighed. My shoulders slumped and I said, "Food!" And then something clicked in my head and I felt that I was seeing my mother in completely different light. And I realized, I too, hate. that. question!
It was still a puzzlement to me though. It was reassuring to know that I was not the first person to hate that question, but why was it that I hated it so? And as I sat musing over this conundrum the answer to my question was presented...by my 5-year-old son.
"Ugh! I don't like that! I'm not eating it!"
And there-in lies the hate. It's not that I hate having the people who I cook for question what it is that I'm cooking for them. I am their mother, and this is one of my many jobs. One that I actually really enjoy. I even have a food-blog. And I follow food-blogs.
Let me share a bit of my life with you...and we'll see if you can figure out why I hate this question so:
Every Sunday night, I sit down with my grocery list, my recipe books, my budget, my calendar, and my flyers and I decide what it is we are going to be eating that week. I plan a meal for each night of the week. I figure out what nights we have things going on which will determine whether we need a quick meal or if we have time for something a little more involved. I check the weather to make sure I'm not planning to use the oven too much on a day when it's 30 degrees out. I like to plan soups and chills for rainy days. I write down the ingredients that I will need to purchase to make those meals happen. I write down items that will be necessary for making lunches for my children and husband. I make sure there are plenty of snacks, in case snacks are needed. I also go around the house and check our stock of soap, toothpaste, vitamins, shampoos, deodorants, toilet paper and the like.
Then, on Mondays, I head out. I send my two older children off to school and my husband off to work. And me and the little one pile into the van with our list, our budget, our flyers and our grocery bins and we usually hit at least 2 stores. And not just any two stores. The big ones. We go to Costco first (which I have a mostly love-love relationship with) and anything that I can't get at Costco I get at Walmart (which I have a love-hate relationship with). And after dragging a 2-year-old through 2 HUGE grocery stores for about 2 1/2 hours, trying desperately to keep him happy and keep myself sane whilst still getting everything on the list (and more often then not I can't get everything on the list, so I always have to stop at some other random grocery store at some point during the week), I head home. And I unload the van full of groceries into the cupboards, pantry, fridge and freezer. I portion out food into ziploc bags so they are meal-appropriate sizes (because I do shop at Costco you know and although it feels like I have a small army living here, we're not literally a small army.)
Every night, I pack lunches and hope that the lunch box will come back at the end of the day empty, and not full of food that is now spoilt from sitting in a lunch box all day.
And then every morning I take the meat out of the freezer that I will need for that night's meal. During the day, I empty the dishwasher and wash dishes from breakfast and lunch. And every afternoon I start the dinner process. I make sure the meal is well-rounded with items from all the food-groups. Trying to follow the Canada Food Guide as much as possible. Ensuring that my kids are getting enough fruits and vegetables and not too many sweets. And then I try to plate the meal and have it ready to go before the minions are clawing at my ankles because they're starving but not too early that they'll be asking me to make something else in an hour because they're still hungry.
Then, after the meal is done, I clear the table. I put food into storage containers for lunches the next day. I wash pots and pans. I add items to my grocery list that I used up. I pack lunches. I vacuum, because eating in this house always equals a need to vacuum and I turn around just in time for my kids to say, "Can we have dessert?" "But you just ate? And I thought you told me you were full...that's why you didn't finish your (veggies/chicken/rice/potatoes/bread) - fill in the blank." "But now I'm hungry for dessert!" sigh.
So you see, it's not that I hate the question, "What's for dinner?" I hate the response I get when I answer that question. I hate that I have gone to all these hours upon hours of trouble, just to have someone else turn and say, "I don't like that! I'm not eating that!" Because if it were just me, I'm pretty sure I'd be happy to cook small meals for myself and clean them up...and I'm pretty sure I wouldn't complain to me and tell me that I didn't like that. I'm pretty good to myself that way.
Or equally as bad as the "I don't like that! I"m not eating that!" response, is the husband who comes home while you are midway through making a very labour-intensive meal and says, "I had a late lunch, I'm not that hungry."
Who am I doing this for?
And when you're finally done in the kitchen for a moment, because you feel like you spend about 75% of your life in that room, and you sit down for just a moment because your feet and legs are aching from standing on Walmart's cement floor all day and a tile floor in your kitchen, someone comes up behind you and taps you on the shoulder to get your attention.
And you snap.
"Please don't tap me on the shoulder. Call my name. Say excuse me. Blow a horn. Whatever. Just please, PLEASE, don't. tap. my. shoulder." And they walk away in a puzzlement.
Mother. Sweet. Kind. Mother. I love you.
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