Bad Mom: Cookin' Up a Little Love

The other day my son walked into the kitchen and said, “Something smells suspicious and disgusting in here.”

I paused my stirring. “It’s chicken soup.”

Good grief. You’d think I was a bad mom for making a nutritional dinner. Besides, that child loves chicken soup. He loves my cooking. Don’t ask me why kids are always on alert for what might be stewing in the pot. Must be a survival-of-the-fittest thing.

Had he been around when I first married, he might have had reason to worry. His father had to teach me all the basics. For years my husband took the credit whenever someone complimented my cooking. “I taught her everything she knows,” he’d say. Finally, I informed him that I’d learned a few things on my own over the past quarter century.

For instance, expired yeast will not cause dough to rise. No matter how long you wait. And holding off for a full twenty-four hours only makes matters worse, unless you’re going for the whole baseball theme with your homemade dinner rolls. The good news is that those rolls will not crush or crumble when thrown at a cinderblock wall. In case you wanted to know.

I’ve also learned that adding sugar to the meat-and-rice entrée will not negate the over-use of salt. By the way, you can tell you’ve used too much salt when the sodium actually burns the taste buds off your tongue.

And no matter what, you can’t convince children ages 8 to 16 that Eggplant Parmesan is just like lasagna. When I bring up the subject, my kids use the word “squishy” and make sounds reminiscent of cats choking up hairballs.

But I’ve had far more culinary successes than failures. In fact, all three of my children love to get busy in the kitchen. My daughter ran her own catering business in high school. My married son often calls for recipes and cooking tips. My thirteen-year-old likes to make dinner from an international recipe book.

Yep, I’d like to think they learned a little something from their old mom.

Except, perhaps, the time my then seven-year-old insisted on making a special lunch just for me. Hubby was out of town on one of his frequent business trips. With three young children under my wing, I liked the idea of being spoiled if only for a few minutes, so I skiddaddled out of the kitchen and let my boy take over.

After what seemed like ages, the little tyke made me close my eyes, led me to the table, pulled out the chair, and seated me in front of the feast he’d so painstakingly prepared.

“Open your eyes,” he said with obvious glee.

I did.

Oh, great.

Centered on the plate was a bagel, the hole in the middle stuffed with cold, leftover mashed potatoes. Ramen noodle soup cascaded over the concoction and pooled around the edges of the dish.

But apple juice filled a goblet, and a proud smile stretched across my son’s face. I washed down the meal with the juice and a huge dose of love for a child who simply wanted to do something nice for his mom.

Then I suggested he make the same thing for his father when daddy came home.

Which he did.

Caron Guillo is only a little mischievous. Visit Caron’s A WORK IN PROGRESS blog at http://caronguilloswriting.blogspot.com.