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Shrimp and veggie fried Rice. I own and use a wok.
I really enjoy cooking. It’s perhaps my favorite of all domestic duties. I enjoy the creatve side of it and I love the response that can be illicited from serving a tasty homecooked meal. For the most part I think I am a good cook, sometimes I am my toughest critic and I ofen require a second set of tastebuds to verify that my latest masterpiece is indeed a viable option for satisfying a robust appetite. Everything isn’t always perfect but I am confident that I can prepare one or two or ten decent meals.
Greens. Pretty good for a girl from Jamaica.
As hard as I am on myself, my sons who will be 8 and 6 on December 29 and December 30, respectively are the WORST. They are giving me cooking low self esteem. Our conversations at dinner and or lunch sound like “Just try it.” “No, I don’t want it.” “Just give it a chance, if you don’t like it you don’t have to eat it.” “I already tried it, I don’t want it. Can I have some cereal?” Or “What’s this green stuff?” “It’s seasoning.” “Can you take it off my plate mommy?” Exasperated I say “No, move it to the side of your plate” and depending on the day I may oblige and make a grilled cheese sandwich but only for the soon-to-be six year old because the soon-to-be eight year old hates bread and will only eat cheese on pizza or if it’s hidden in scrambled eggs or an omelet.
Chicken Lasagna. Thanks cousin Mich for the recipe.
I’ve consulted with friends who reassure me, “They are young, they don’t know anything.” But to his credit the almost eight year old is a better eater than his younger sibling so when he says “Mommy your food is good”, I believe him and when both of them agree that I’ve done particularly welll in the kitchen despite preparing a meal sans macaroni and cheese or rice and green peas I feel accomplished. Then, I get motivated to try again. But in the meantime I cant cook for them , I cook for me and hopefully somewhere in that process I will expand their little tastebuds.
Good Manners Are Always in Style
Of all the areas in my child rearing adventures where I am not as consistent as I would like to be I think I am almost at 92% when it comes to manners. My boys are boys’ boys they are at times unruly and rambunctious (I attribute their activity to that testostersone). I ‘ve learned people are usually more forgiving if they say “Excuse me” after they’ve accidentally bumped into someone or “Sorry ” if they’ve unintentionally harmed another child or “Please” when making a request and “Thank you” upon receiving an item or service.
I work very hard to instill those basics into my boys and at times I encounter people who either 1. did not receive those lessons or 2. have decided to ignore or abandon these early teachings altogether. I know we live in an age where boundaries about almost all things conflate and blur. As a result people believe its okay to bend or break the rules to suit their needs in any given moment, but I miss the good old days when people said “please” and “thank you” without a second thought. I miss when folks felt it was imperative to call (text) if they couldn’t make it or were running late. I am longing for people to say “Hello” when entering a room and “Good bye” upon leaving. I think its great to hold the door for the person coming after you regardless of whether they are male or female. I think it’s important to tell a gentleman “Thank you” if he’s treated you to a day or night out. I am also a firm believer that (as someone has recently reminded me) when an adult is present children should “watch their mouth”.
What ever happend to manners and being just plain old polite? Fashion trends come and go, super stars rise and fall, relationships begin hot and grow cold, jobs are here today and gone tomorrow but for me manners will never go out of style. Forget about sexy it’s about time we bring manners back. By the way, thank you for reading and please come again.
My sons started their new school today. This group of students is decidedly very ethnic and populated by new immigrants evidenced by the dispproportionate number of boys wearing less than fashionable high water pants and the young girls with their little plaits held at the ends with tiny barrettes. My oldest observed that it is much larger than his old school, I agreed.
We took the five year old over to join the line with his new classmates and I showered him with an excessive amount of hugs. He said “Bye Mommy” in a voice that is much too deep for someone in kindergarten. I though my baby is growing up. The teacher sensing my apprehension said ” The first day of kindergarten is a big day.” I thought, I don’t know if it’s a bigger day for me or the boy.
My children’s’ father and I were able to present our sons with a gift this past Saturday. It was nothing extravagant, but it was spectacular. The cost was minimal and required a few hours of my time. However, it was priceless. This was the first time I’ve ever seen my boys so happy. As a result I was happy. Overjoyed actually, my heart was filled. It reminded me that self-centered mommying at it’s core is really about the children, as self-centered mommies are usually the most joyful when their babies are genuinely happy.
After hearing “Mommy” one too many times, I often sigh “I am changing my name.”
I finally did, to Divalicious.
My oldest questioned: “DivaMom?”
I replied “No, Divalicious. I dont want mom mentioned at all.”
My youngest chimed in “How about Diva?”
I said, “That works.”
My niece added, ” Can I say Aunty Diva?”
I said that will work too.
After about 5 minutes of , “Diva!”, “Divalicious!”, “Aunty Diva!”
I said, “Okay, never mind, go back to calling me Mommy and Aunty”.
Courtesy of inspired fitness.com
My 5 year old used my bendable rollers first to make a wand then the next day he transformed it into miniature dumbbells. Although I had a good idea what they were I asked him, “What’s that?”
He replied: ”It’s a weight mommy.”
I said, “Great job!”
He affirmed, “I am a creator, right mommy?”
I agreed, “Yes you are.”
I was tickled that my baby used the word “creator”. I thought it was an interesting statement for a five year old to make. After all aren’t we all ultimately the creators of our own destinies? Don’t we use the resources that we currently have available to shape and construct our reality?
It is our ability to master our minds that in many cases determines how we live our lives. Yet we consistently allow our trains of thought to run amuck with unsavory ideas and self doubt that plant the seeds of our own destruction. We forget that we are indeed creators, that in each and every situation we have the ability to build the life we choose.
At times I long for the mind of a child, those days when everything was possible. There was no limitation, in your mind you could be and do anything. If we were all were as bold as my 5 year old affirming that we were indeed creators perhaps we can recapture the feeling that the possibilities in life are limitless. Perhaps we can take a lesson from my five year old and empower ourselves by asserting that as creators we can construct whatever it is we desire, building what we want by using the resources that we have available.
One of my favorite Disney movies has to be Finding Nemo. I adore that movie mainly because Merlin transforms from an over protective over baring father to one who proclaims to his son Nemo “Go have an adventure!”. My uncle who recovered from cancer rec
ently shared a similar sentiment. He said he had so many wonderful memories from his youth to keep him company that he was content that he had a full and rewarding life. He advised that as a young person I should live my life so that when I reach his age ( late 70’s) I would have something upon which to reflect. I do my best to instill those same principles in my sons. Yet with so many concerns about “people who want to harm children” sometimes it’s very difficult to know when you are encouraging an adventure or courting disaster.
I do little things: I let them go to the men’s room alone, while I hover at the door. I stand close by and monitor them while they cross the street to see who knows how to do it right. They both know my cell phone number and full name, just in case.
I’ve had a couple of close calls where I’ve momentarily lost sight of either one boy or the other, and I am so tempted to say: “I am never going to let you out of my sight again”. But then a cooler head prevails as I’ve noticed that they are actually pretty smart and have always found themselves back to me. They are only 7 and 5 right now so I can only imagine what adventures they will have when they are 17 and 15. I only hope that whatever it is, I will have imparted them with the tools needed to always find their way back to me.
Mmmm....Mmmmm....Good
I recieved one of the greatest compliments a 7 year old boy could bestow upon a DivaMom. My son said my baked barbecue chicken tasted, “Better than McDonald’s”. I kid you not! I have often fantasized about that day and it has arrived. Halelujah!
He sounded a bit hoarse when I picked him up from camp yesterday. For dinner last night we had homemade chicken soup. While seated at the table he looked at me with pleading eyes, and I said, “What? You want to drink it from the bowl?” He nodded. I consented. He said his throat felt much better. I smiled.
Before
Of all household chores cooking is my favorite. I enjoy the creative process from begining with an idea of what I’d like to prepare to selecting ingredients then chopping and seasoning, lighting a fire and ultimately setting the table. I imagine various combinations of textures and flavors and derive immense pleasure from creating a new or variation of a preexisting recipe. My meals turn out best when I cook with my heart rather than my head. Simplystated: I dont give the process too much thought I simply do what I feel moved to do. Even more delightful than preparing a meal is the knowledge that those who have eaten it found it tasty and satisfying.
After
In grateful appreciation for their assitance during my time of need I recently prepared Sunday dinner for two gentlemen. It was my pleasure, my heart was filled as they reached for seconds. Conversation during dinner was limited and when my seven year old questioned the silence he was informed “Everyone is eating.” They ate and I was happy. Happy enough to do it again just because I like it.
I was making pancakes with my son this past Father’s Day (yesterday) and it reminded me of when I was around his age (7) and began cooking. It was definitely something my father encouraged. Despite his insistance that my sister and I grow up to be educated independent women, his sensibilities regarding a “good woman” did not depart from his West Indian roots and for him that included a woman that could cook.
My sister and I began experimenting with transforming raw goods into palatable meals very early on. It was a chore that we eagerly embraced under the sometimes supervision and unwavering encouragement from Big Poppa, aka Big Red, aka Daddy. He was our greatest cheerleader not by demanding, bribing or creating some unique game to diguise this chore. My father simply ate all of our concoctions. Even when we declined to to ingest our our creations he indulged and offered sound critique including “more seasoning”, “less baking powder”, or “next time cook it longer”. We trusted his opinion as we knew he would be truthful but his honesty was tempered with love couched in encouragement. We were emboldened and charged into the kitchen knowing that while our recipes may not always be cook book perfect we felt we could do no wrong and the best part was that we had a willing customer who would gladly consume the fruits of our labor.
Those memories are a constant source of amusement for me; for that I am forever grateful. Nowadays almost every time I prepare a meal I am reminded of the start of it all and my Dad is there. Happy Father’s day to all the dads and fathers who eat their little children’s bad cooking.
W. Reid
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