His eyes were gleaming.
“I entered the raffle for the Ipad! I can’t wait to win!”
I tried to share my 9 year old’s naive enthusiasm, but it wasn’t working.
Uh oh, I don’t want him to be disappointed when he doesn’t win. What’s the chances of winning anyway? I better help him realize he might not win.
“You think you’ll win?” I ask causally.
“Of course I’ll win. I just don’t know if I’ll keep it, or sell it. If I sell it, there’s so many things I can do with the money!” And he starts listing the endless options of what he can buy..rrI’m already seeing the disappointment when he doesn’t win, and it’s too painful.
What was that article I read about helping kids deal with disappointment…5 Things Every Parent Must Know To Help Their Child Succeed…right, I better start now.
“Well, you know, alot of people entered the raffle, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll win.”
I see the gleam leaving his eyes…
Oh no, I’ve taken away his enthusiasm, help!
What was it that I read the other day in that other parenting article…Building Enthusiasm is Building the Future, right, help them build their enthusiasm.
“Well, don’t worry, you still have a good chance at winning, I’m sure you can win. It’s definitely possible!”
The gleam is back; he’s making his wish list of what apps he’ll download.
Uh oh, but he might not win. And even if he does, he certainly is not downloading whatever app he wants…not every app on there is made for kids!
What was it I read in that other parenting article…What Every Mom Needs to Know About Their Child’s Independence…Right, give independence but keep your authority.
“Y’know, even if you win, you can’t just download every app you want. We’d have to discuss it before you download it.” A look of disappointment crosses my son’s face.
Now I’ve taken away his confidence! That didn’t go right; he needs to feel a sense of control! What was that article I read the other week…right, Don’t Make the Control Mistake, give your child a chance to assert his authority, let him feel like he has some control so he can make better choices.
“Oh, of course, you can make some choices. Don’t worry, you’ll be able to choose some of the apps.” Phew, I see the relief wash over his face. Now he’s back to the different selling options. If he can sell it for double the price, he can really make a lot of profit…
Oh no, what was it I read in that other parenting article the other week, The Five Rules of How to Prepare Your Child for the Real World. Right, kids need to understand that there’s acceptable and unacceptable; you can’t just name the price or do something outrageous. I better stop him before he gets hit hard with disappointment in the real world. And so I try again.
“Well, you might want to sell it, but who says someone will buy it? And if the price is too high, no one will be interested…”The disappointment is back, I can see it on his face. The enthusiasm is nowhere to be seen.
Grrr, I ruined it again! This not working out like any of those brilliant articles!! Why do those things always work like a charm on paper, and in real life, the conversations just don’t work like that!!
I’m ready to start in again, another recent article coming to mind…
And then I stop. My head is spinning, and I have a feeling my son feels the same.
What am I doing? Who says I need to answer everything?
Forget the millions of articles, just listen. All he wants is for you to listen!
I take a deep breath. I’m determined to get it right.
“So you’d be really happy if you won, right?”
And just like that, his enthusiasm, naivete, excitement and entrepreneurship is back.
He’s talking a mile a minute. I can see his little mind spinning with new ideas, new hopes, new dreams.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
I almost ruined it.
He’ll learn. He’ll learn disappointment and achievement. He’ll learn winning and losing.
And sometimes I know it’ll be painful for me to witness, but I will do the one thing those many articles forget to emphasize.
I will listen.
Keep my mouth closed, and just listen.
Truthfully, that’s the best thing a mom can give.
I should have realized things were not going to go according to plan as soon as I missed the exit. It wasn’t totally my fault; it was a six lane highway, why was only one measly lane allocated to get onto the next connecting highway? When Waze said stay the to right, they didn’t say the far right! And for those of us who are not deft last-minute-lane-switchers, that’s really crucial information.
But with a car full of kids, I kept my rant to myself. Kids sure can bring out the best in their mom.
After some quick recalculating, Waze gave me a new route but the same ETA. Phew, we would still make it at the planned time.
We had guests visiting from out of town and the kids were excited to spend time with their friends. We didn’t want to be back late. Thirty minutes to drive to Costco, 30 minutes to get everyone out of the car, assembled in the wagon, race to the fridge where the kosher cheese was stashed, run onto line, pay, get a smiley drawn on the receipt, zoom back to the car, get everyone strapped in and get back on the freeway. And then 30 minutes back home.
We’d arrive the same time as our guests; all would work out well. And there’s nothing I like better than planning a very tight schedule, and seeing it work out. But my 9 year old was losing faith in me after I missed that exit.
“You’re sure they have the cheese? Did you call to make sure they have it?”
“Yes, they have 186 bags, they certainly do.”
I had called. 2 days before. But I knew they wouldn’t sell all those pieces in just two days.
Then the gas went on empty.
“You’re sure we have enough gas to get there?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We’re only 5 miles away. It’s fine.”
“Will we have time to get gas?”
“Yes, it’ll take a few minutes, but we’ll still get home in time.”
Costco, here we come!
Right, I had forgotten why I hate going to this particular Costco. They don’t have enough parking spots. Why pray tell, on a typical Thursday mid afternoon, was the parking lot so full? Doesn’t anyone in the city work?!
So we circled…and circled…and found a spot, unloaded the car, loaded the wagon, and off we went. Straight to the cheese shelf.
Which was empty.
“You see, you should have called today!”
“We shouldn’t have come today!”
“Let’s go home!”
I kept my voice a lot calmer than I was feeling; “They said they had it. I’m sure they do. Let’s find someone who can help us.”
The front desk looked miles away, and pushing this family size wagon left me with no energy to make the trek…so we circled the fridge section, until we spotted a very helpful Adam. Thankfully, Costco employees are competent; whatever Costco does when hiring, they certainly do it right.
Adam promised to go check out the problem. He was back a few minutes later with the news; Yes, 186 bags were in the store. He just had no idea where in the store they were.
Apparently, the fridge section is even bigger than I had imagined. He promised it shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes to locate the missing cheese.
I assured him I was going nowhere; after driving 30 minutes and shlepping this far; we were not about to leave without our cheese.
I got a bag of dried mango, and settled in with my six little helpers at the corner of the fridge section, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, silently thanking Costco for making wagons that fit three kids comfortably (or four, if you’re desperate). The only impromptu game I could think of that wouldn’t attract more attention than necessary, worked for all ages and would keep everyone busy was I Spy. The rules were it couldn’t be anything on people.
And we played. Me trying be cheerful, although it was hot and busy, and the kids actually enjoying it.
And then good old Adam came back. Empty handed.
“It’s there. In the fridge. But on the bottom of the palettes. I need a few more minutes.”
“Of course, no problem. Do what you gotta do, as long as we leave here with cheese!”
My kids wanted to know what time it was…and the truth was, I had no idea!
My phone was dead; I had no watch. And for some reason, Costco is one of those place where time stands still; everyone has all the time in the world to taste little samples and try out new couches.
So I gave a guess and reassured the kids that we’d get home just “a little bit” after our guests, although I knew that wasn’t so accurate.
And then the grumbling started.
“Let’s just leave now!”
“You should have called!”
“I’m never coming back here again.”
My thoughts exactly, I thought. But kids bring out the best in their mom, and so I kept my thoughts to myself.
“Just a few more minutes,” I said. And I hoped I was right.
And then there came smiling Adam, who at this point deserved a medal.
And handed me a case of cheese. I took 15 bags, I did not want to make this trip again anytime soon.
We zoomed off to the register; today none of the samplings were Kosher, and I had very little bribing tools left.
“We’re going, we’re going. We won’t be home that much after our guests.”
I handed the guy the card; he held it up, not moving it. I smiled. He stared at me.
“You want me to throw this out?”
I stared at him blankly.What’s his problem?
I looked a little closer. Whoops, it was the Sam’s Club card.
I smiled with the little bit of energy I had left, switched the card for the Costco one, and tried to find some humor. “It’s been a long day…”
I gave out some more dried mango, and sluggishly pushed the wagon in the 101 degree heat to the car.
Everyone got in, reminding me we needed to fill up on gas. And now we see the time.
Nope, didn’t go according to my schedule. We were 40 minutes late. We wouldn’t be there to greet our guests. That’s not the type of hostess I like to be.
And then the kids joined in, only unlike me, they had the luxury of voicing their thoughts.
“You see, we shouldn’t have come today!”
“The guests are there already!”
“You should have called first.”
And we still need to fill up gas! I wanted to chime in.
And my battery is dead.
And I wont be able to use my GPS.
And there’ll probably be traffic.
And it’s all you’re fault, my darling children, because you all went to play with chalk outside when it was time to leave, making us leave an hour late!
But kids bring out the best in their mom.
And I didn’t say any of that.
So we went across the the gas station; first pulling up on the wrong side. I know better than to fight with one of those amazing extending gas pumps; it never works for me. Quick u-turn, back in line, this time on the side where the gas tank is. Swipe my card. It won’t work. I KNOW it should work. This is a valid card. Swipe again. Doesn’t work.
Back in the car. Pull off to the side. Try to call my husband but battery is too dead. Wait a few minutes. Finally call; yes the card should work. Back in line. This time it works. Fill up the tank. Ask the guy directions to the freeway.
Get in the car, and 55 minutes off schedule, we are ready to roll.
And we are all cranky, me included.
Someone needed to be the adult in the situation, and I had a feeling it was going to have to be me.
“Ok, kids. Either we can play the blame game and blame everyone we possibly can for this taking so long. Like I can blame all of you for playing with chalk instead of getting in the car when we were leaving the house….or we can play the Hashgacha Protis game, and try to figure out why everything took so long and why we had to sit around in Costco for an hour.”
Thankfully, they chose the latter. We tried coming up with different reasons; they were pretty creative.
And just for emphasis, I added, “And if we get on the freeway and its backed up with traffic, well there’s a reason for that too.”
And no sooner than saying that, there we were, in freeway traffic.
I groaned, but kept it to myself. My husband called to see what we were up to and to assure us that the guests were just fine, settled in our house.
I wanted to complain and kvetch and give it all I got on how frustrating it had been. Noticing my audience in the rearview mirror, I took a deep breath and kept the conversation brief and cheerful.
Because kids really do bring out the best in their parents.
It challenges my mothering abilities.
It weakens my motherhood confidence.
It shakes all the ideals that I stand for.
It questions my very being.
It fills me with self doubt.
It’s toilet training.
“Ok, today’s the day! You’re going to be toilet trained!” I enthusiastically told my three year old.
“No, not today,” he casually answered. “When I’m six, I’ll get toilet trained. I’m not ready yet.”
Now, in my book, a kid that can answer with such eloquence is a kid who should be long toilet trained.
But apparently, this little boy doesn’t go by my book.
I’ve got all the charts in place and the bribes lined up. I’m ready to go; problem is, he isn’t.
And that brings me back to square one.
What if I don’t succeed at this?
Will my kid figure it out?
Or will my kid be the first one to go to high school in a pamper?
No, it can’t happen. It won’t happen.
I know it won’t happen.
But still, I worry. Still, I doubt myself.
And then I meet my dear friend who nonchalantly laughs at the ease of training her 18 month old. I laugh along, half heartedly. And then she tells me about her mother’s neighbor’s nieces friends who trained their 18 month old.
I refuse to believe her. Not when I’m trying to train my 40 month old.
So no, in my mind her 18 month old is not toilet trained. And neither is her mother’s neighbor’s whatever. And I don’t believe it’s possible either.
But will I fail the motherhood test? Will I get a big F on my motherhood report because my 3 ½ year old is still in a pamper?
Will I get marked for effort, at least?
I think I should get A+ for effort.
The truth is, maybe I should put in more effort.
But I don’t have time for more effort. There’s still the rest of the kids who need some attention too. And I can’t cook meals while hanging out in the bathroom.
But I am trying.
Maybe not hard enough.
Maybe if I tried harder he’d be toilet trained at 18 months.
No, that’s not possible anyway.
Unless you become a slave to the bathroom, and basically move in.
But maybe it is possible.
Maybe I should force him.
Maybe I should have let him cry for hours last week, when we had failed attempt #5.
Maybe I shouldn’t have compromised.
But I don’t believe in forcing.
So maybe I do get an F for effort, too.
But that’s not fair!
I got all my kids dressed today. I made fresh supper. I let the kids use their water paints today.
Toilet training isn’t the most important thing anyway.
But maybe it is. Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.
Maybe my kid will be the first to go to elementary school in pampers.
It’ll be his fault, not mine.
No, it will be mine.
I should have done it at 18 months.
It’s not possible anyway.
I look at my four big kids. All successfully toilet trained. It boosts my confidence, and jolts me back to reality.
Right, I do know how to do this!
So what am I so worried about? Do I really think I can’t do it?
Or is it something else?
Maybe I’m just sick of getting unsolicited toilet training advice.
Yes, that’s it.
That is it! Enough theory sharing when I didn’t ask. Enough tsk-tsk looks when moms notice he’s not potty trained. Enough tips and tricks that don’t work for everyone. Enough comparing. Enough analyzing. Enough unhelpful support.
I am cut out for this. I will not get an F.
And when he’s ready, it’ll work.
I’ve done it before. I am capable. I can do it. I will do it. At the right time.
And he’s happy. That’s really what’s most important of all.
And he’s an eloquent talker.
Some days I wake up feeling ambitious and set big goals. Lots of them! Tackle the kids’ closets. Organize the garage. Clear out the laundry room clutter.
Some days I’m less ambitious and make some small goals. Wash the dishes. Sweep the kitchen floor.
Some days I have many goals, some days I have few goals. Some days I get them all done, some days I get a few done.
And some days I get none of them done.
And some days are adjust-my-goals days. Like yesterday.
By 8:30 AM I realized I would have to adjust. I scrapped all my plans and stuck to one simple goal: do not yell.
It was quite apparent that for the kids, it was a “let’s make mommy yell” day, and I resolved I would not give in. I would not raise my voice.
All the kids had gone to sleep too late the night before and woke up too early in the morning. Everyone was sleep deprived. And they kvetched. And they cried. And they fought. And they spilled. And a lot of other stuff.
Trying to get a moment of peace, I opted to serve hot cocoa. My 3 year old insisted on the pink cup. The pink cup was already in use. And I stuck to my rule of Cups Don’t Have a Taste So We Don’t Choose Colors. And he cried. And he bawled. And everyone else finished their hot cocoa. And he still wanted the pink cup. And then kind little 6 year old brought him his finished pink cup. And he poured the cocoa in, spilling half on the table. New reason to cry. And on it went.
And I stuck to my goal; I did not yell.
I served some pasta. 4 year old wanted ketchup. But not where I put it. There was nothing to rationalize about. He wanted it THERE, not THERE! My head was spinning, all the THERES looked the same to me.
I took a deep breath. And I stuck to my goal; I did not yell.
And on the day went. Lots of deep breaths. When my husband came home, I disappeared for a little while to refuel.
And more spills, and more fights.
But I did not yell.
When they were all tucked in and finally asleep, I felt like it was one of my most accomplishing days yet. Sure, my head was spinning and I was absolutely exhausted. But I had not raised my voice even once.
I had nothing to show for it; no items crossed off my list. Not by the looks of the floors or the kitchen sink. Or the garage or the laundry room.
I realized that not all accomplishments can be hung out on a banner. Not all accomplishments can be bragged about on Facebook. Or posted on Pinterest. Some are just that satisfied feeling that only a mom knows at the end of a long day.
I collapsed on the couch and allowed my brain a few seconds to mentally rethink my day. And to find something positive about it.
I took it all as a reminder that nothing just “happens.” There needs to be a goal.There needs to be work.
Nothing happens on its own. Sure, it’s true for everything in life, but a million times more relevant when it comes to raising kids. And as calm as I like to be, I don’t think I would have made it through the day without losing it had it not been my top priority.
All that I want for my children, and the house they’re growing up in, won’t happen by itself. Sometimes it’ll be at the cost of the laundry, clean house, a good nights sleep and a lot of other stuff. But that’s the only way to reach my goal, especially when it comes to raising my kids.
Once upon a time I used to like going to hotels. I liked walking into a freshly done up room that wasn’t prepared by me.
I loved seeing the linens that were fresh and crisp, and not because I did the laundry. I loved the freshly folded towels, not folded by me. I loved the little adorable essentials that I didn’t shop for.
I felt like a queen.
And then I went to a hotel with all my kids. And we stayed in one room. And then we did it again. And again.
And no longer did a hotel have the same appeal.
It started innocently enough. We got to the lobby to check in. We asked for two connecting rooms. Oh, they don’t have connecting rooms.
Can I put kids ages 6 and under in their own room? No, not going to work.
So how bad can it be to be in one room?
We piled in. Us and all our 45 pieces of luggage of every shape, color and size. And suddenly the hotel room looked different than it had for so many years.
The drawers opened and closed so easily, waiting for little fingers to close it on themselves. Twenty lamps to flick off and on. Alarm clocks to set and beep every couple of minutes. A phone to call room service as many times as you please. A blow dryer in the bathroom, accessible to all. And the beds; those mattresses were way more fun to jump on than the house ones.
The abundance of pillows! Not just any pillows; but pillows that are so fluffy and puffy they make great Frisbees, balls, airplanes and anything else that can sail across a room. And a swivel chair. All a mom’s nightmares in one room.
That very first time we did it, we needed 10 extra blankets and 6 more pillows.
I opened the door just a crack when room service arrived; no point letting them see just how many kids can fit into one cramped hotel room.
And then bedtime began. I wheeled the baby up and down the hall, praying for him to sleep and trying to be intrigued by the non intricate detail of the carpets, while my husband tried to get the rest of the gang to bed. When baby was finally sleeping, I quietly went back to the hotel room and switched him in for the rowdy toddler who kept climbing out of the pac ‘n play; up and down the hall I went…but it didn’t work.
I brought him back to the room and took the energetic four year old out, hoping my husband could do his magic and get the toddler to sleep.
By 11:43 pm, all the kids were asleep. It was pitch black. My husband and I didn’t dare turn on a light, whisper, or breathe for that matter, out of fear of waking up one of the kids.
I quietly tiptoed into bed, not without tripping over a little shoe and stubbing my toe into those useless hotel desks.
At 1:03, the baby was crying; I didn’t give him a chance to see if he’d fall back asleep, I grabbed him and nursed him, out of fear that someone else would wake up.
2:10 my 4 year old whimpered; I held my breath; no one wake up!!
Phew, they were all still sleeping.
3:25 I was nursing again.
4:15 I had a stiff neck from those over fluffy hotel pillows.
4:45 I started thinking about bedbugs.
5:05 I was nursing again.
6:01 the guy next door was starting his day early and the slam of his hotel room door was deafening.
Everyone was still sleeping.
6:15 I heard a whisper.
6:16 I heard two whispers.
6:18 and they were all up. And I was still trying to fall into a peaceful sleep.
Why oh why didn’t we just stay home?? Whose idea was this anyway? I’m never doing this again! Ever! Even if it means doing my own laundry and folding my own towels!
But of course, we did do it again. Many times.
Last weekend was our most recent hotel adventure; although my memory changes with time, the experience doesn’t. It was a weekend retreat with 25 other families. And for the second year in a row, my kids won the kids-who-wake-up-earliest award, and my husband continued his winning streak of dad-who-gets-up-earliest-with-his-kids award.
And I got to sleep in an extra 2 hours, convincing myself it was a solid sleep, despite the uncomfortable, over-fluffy pillows and dreaming of bed bugs.
And I know we’ll do it again.
And even though we unplug every outlet, put away blow dryers, bring our own pillows and use our suitcase full of tricks we’ve accumulated over our many hotel experiences, I know it’s not going to be a vacation stay.
I just add it to the many things I didn’t notice in the fine print when I signed up for this wonderful and crazy thing called motherhood.
It’s the end of a long day and I decide to come out of my mommy bubble of diapers, laundry and wiping spills to check what’s going on in the rest of the world. You know, just to make sure all is where I left it last.
I log onto Facebook to get a quick glimpse of life around town; in just a few minutes I’ll be brought up to date. I’ll know what friends and strangers made for dinner, see pictures of all the cool places that everyone else visits, and know which stores are having the greatest deals.
It’s time to unwind and check up on the outside world.
And suddenly I feel things starting to slowly go downhill.
What moments before had been a great, fun day with me being an involved, active mommy is shattering to pieces.
10 foods that are destroying you! the first headline blares.
Gulp, what was this!? The picture looks like it was taken in my refrigerator.
Could it be I’m hoarding destructive food in my own house? What am I doing to my family?
I continue scrolling.
Do you know what you’re feeding your kids? Stay away from big supermarkets!
Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s are being sued for mislabeling products. Even their food isn’t good for you. Buy from your local farmers. It’s the only way.
Help! What am I feeding my kids? I push it out of my mind and keep scrolling down.
Don’t let your baby cry it out! You won’t believe what it can do to your child!
Should I click to read more? No, the headlines says enough.
I’m a believer of crying it out; it works and sure makes for a good sleep plan. As a matter of fact, all my good sleeper kids were sleep trained. But still, my mommy conscience starts the guilt thing. Uh oh, what have I done to them?
Against my better judgement, I keep scrolling.
Vaccinations! The reports are out!
By this time I have a pit in my stomach; I don’t even want to hear if the reports are good or bad. I vaccinate. Period. But there’s 18,000 likes and 4,567 comments…should I read it?
What if I’m the only mom left out of the loop on this new vaccination development? And once again, against my better judgement, I scan the article. It’s an anti vaccinations one. Thankfully, it’s nothing new.
So I keep scrolling. The pit in my stomach is growing; now it’s a double knot.
Do you realize what you are putting inside you?
I watch a quick video of coke in a pot being boiled until the water is burnt out; a big glob of black-sugar-blob remains.
Phew, I kicked my coke habit a few years ago, I’m good on this one.
But at tonight’s barbecue I kind of let the kids choose a can…I think they all chose coke…I’m in trouble! I can practically hear the sugar blobs gurgling as the kids sleep…
Know where your vegetables come from! You won’t believe what happens to them in transport!
I think of my bananas sitting on the counter…and I’m pretty sure the little sticker on it that my kids love to collect says Ecuador. How did they ship them here?? I bet it wasn’t in first class…am I feeding my kids the terrible stuff it says here? Here I was feeling so proud that the baby eats a banana every day for breakfast…
Recall! Kirkland Black Pepper! Traces of Salmonella!
I use that in practically every dish!! If we are feeling fine until now, does that mean the one I have is safe??
But suddenly I’m nauseous and I have a headache.
Germs. Do you know what germs are lurking on your door knobs? Your cell phone has more germs than…
I’m done. I stop reading.
Now I’m a wreck; what an awful mom I am after all! Destroying my family! Feeding them toxins!
What will be? Should we move to a farm and grow our own stuff? Can we live off the crop we get from our garden?
I glance at the next few headlines; water safety, secondary drowning, heat advisory, kids left in cars by mistake. This stuff can make any mom fall apart!
I turn off the screen and shove my phone across the couch. I don’t want to have anything to do with it.
Only ten minutes ago I was a great mom. Now I am doing it all wrong. And my worry list had just quadrupled.
Maybe all these mommy groups and instant news updates aren’t such a good thing after all.
Are they making me a confident mom or a paranoid mom?
Are they making me more diligent in taking care of my kids, or turning me into the world’s worst helicopter mom?
Are they making me happier or more neurotic?
A calmer mom or a nervous wreck mom?
No, this certainly isn’t making me be a better mother. If I keep on reading, I know just the type of mom I’ll become- the overbearing type that really ruins their kids.
I’m ready to go back to the old way.
Away with the mommy groups. Back to using common sense, advice from good friends, wisdom from my mother’s experience and an occasional visit to Google.
It was finally coming true. My mind was racing, my imagination going wild.
No more cooking suppers. No more peeling, cutting and prepping food. My son was going to take over the kitchen.
He’s a natural. He’s one of those.
I would be one of those bragging moms who nonchalantly wave their hands and laugh, “Oh, I stopped cooking ages ago. My son does it. He’s a natural.”
And they casually pause for the response they know is coming, “Really, your son?! Wow, how amazing! How’d you train him??”
And the ambiguous answer of, “You gotta train them when their young…” Smiling smugly. Implying that everyone else’s children weren’t trained.
Well, that bragging mom was going to be me!
“It says butter. Can I use peanut butter instead?”
That certainly interrupted my train of thought.
And reminded me that I was jumping ahead a bit too far; after all, he’s nine.
He had been browsing through a cookbook and had come across a potato chip recipe and wanted to try it. Contrary to my initial inward reaction, I enthusiastically agreed.
And we didn’t have butter, hence the question.
And so he learned his first kitchen tip; peanut butter does not replace butter. But you can use oil instead.
I guess he might not be taking over the kitchen as soon as I was imagining after all.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t brag about his cooking, I thought stubbornly.“My son, he’s just a natural in the kitchen!”
Well, kind of, anyways. I mean, he cooked once…
But you know us moms, we love to exaggerate :)