As many of you know, the Giginator, aka my mother, was a home economics teacher for 20-something years. As part of her teaching responsibilities, she taught what must have been 1000s of Berkeley County middle schoolers how to cook. Let me just tell you right now: after two consecutive nights of Mac insisting he help me cook, I am pretty convinced I would have to be heavily medicated on happy pills to teach children how to cook day in and day out.
The mess.
The extra time it takes.
The incessant questioning of "how much longer till it's ready?"
And did I mention the mess?
Last night we made really quite a delicious baked orzo dish (Mac cooked the bacon, sautéed the onions, chopped the basil and measured out the liquids) and tonight we baked homemade biscuits of which Mac has already eaten 2 and declared delicious (Mac measured the flour, whisked the dry ingredients together, mixed the liquid in, kneaded and cut out the biscuits).
Sweet Lord, grant me patience to continue these lessons.
And sweet Lord, put a bug in Mac's Bubby's ear to teach him some cooking when she comes to see us next week. He will have off two full weeks for Spring Break and that would provide lots of quality cooking time.
And also sweet Lord, put a bug in the Giginator's ear to follow up on these lessons when Mac goes home this summer ahead of Jimmy and me. There could be 3 weeks of good bonding time over a hot stove.
I may not need the extra patience after all if I can get these grandmothers on board....
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