Quit Wanting To Cook With Me

I have been accused of having a bit of a controlling nature. Well, sadly, there might be some truth to that, especially when it comes to making ANYTHING in the kitchen with my children. I stare in awe when I see parents hand their kids the mixing bowl, flour, etc and say, “Let’s bake something together honey! It’ll be fun!” Actually, Mama Martha, it will NOT be fun. It will be a mess! Have you ever seen a 4 year old crack an egg or pour flour from one bowl to another? Their hand eye coordination is not yet up to snuff so that cake will surely be crunchy and there will be at least ¼ of the flour OUTSIDE of the bowl.

Listen, I like to keep my time in the kitchen to a minimum as it is, so I REALLY do not wish to do extra math to gauge how much of the cup of sugar is now on the counter and how much more I need to add to the actual bowl. That’s not what I went in there for. My daughter (21 years old at this writing) is a superb cook. I mean, she’s creative and fearless and makes restaurant worthy dishes. Her spices come together in an awesome way.  It is one of the greatest mysteries of my life. I can honestly say, I have NO idea how she learned to cook. I was never even in the kitchen much and when I was, I promise you I didn’t let her do anything. “No sweetie, I don’t need you to crack an egg. Nope, don’t need you to measure anything. Nah, I’m good. Why don’t you go watch one of your shows?”

Control. Freak. I own it. My son learned quickly not to even ask. From time to time he’d ask if he could beat the batter for a cake with the mixer. Immediately, displayed in slow motion, my head filled with images of his hand lifting that mixer as it was still going and cake batter splattering on every surface of the kitchen, ceiling included. How would one go about cleaning THAT up? So, on a normal day, I’d say, “No, go watch your show” or, if I was feeling Mom-like, I’d put my hand over his to ensure that there would be no flying batter. He quit asking to help and we all went on to live the lives we were meant to live. Now, will his future wife probably hate my guts because he doesn’t know how to do anything in the kitchen beyond making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? Yes, yes, she will. Well, unless he gets a controlling gal like his mama. Then he’s homefree.