My mom is an awesome cook. Growing up, she cooked all the time. She made breakfast each morning and dinner every night. OK, not every night. We ate out sometimes too. But the big meal was always Sunday dinner. We would always have a roast or turkey or ham and all the fixings. The house would smell amazing, and those smells will forever pull me back to that warm comfort of childhood.
Now my mom and I are living together again, but this time I'm a mom too. She doesn't cook much in the new house. I mean, I was raised with a mom that cooked, so I am now a mom that cooks. That's kind of weird to say, because I never asked my mom to teach me to cook. I was more than happy to just let her do it and reap all the benefits. In fact, I didn't start cooking until I was well into my 20s. (We're talking closer to 30 than 20, here.)
And do you know what made me learn to cook? I wish I could say it was the primal instinct of a mother-to-be, but no. It was the farmer's market. And not my burning desire to eat fresh or local or even my curiosity about ne, exotic vegetables. I had a craving for zucchini bread. Simple. No biggie. Just a craving. I thought, "That can't be that hard. I'll just pop down to the farmer's market over lunch and pick up a couple of zucchinis."
So, I grabbed my friend, and we went to the market. I walked up to the first stall with zucchinis and said, "I'll take two!" (Those of you familiar with the ways of the the market are likely snickering at my naivete right now.) They don't really sell things one at a time there. And, before I knew what was happening, I had two bags overflowing with zucchinis. Literally. At least 2 dozen.
My eyes round, I looked at my friend and said, "Do you have any zucchini recipes?" We both laughed. At least I had a project for the weekend.
So, I went home and started googling zucchini recipes. I sent out an email to all my friends inviting them to a zucchini dinner party and started cooking. I made 2 loaves of zucchini bread, a zucchini chocolate cake and West African Stew. And by the time I was finished chopping, grating and cooking all of that zucchini – I was obsessed with cooking. (And by the time eveyone was done eating, they were obsessed with West African Stew and Zucchini Chocolate Cake)
The thing is, though, I never got back around to learning the basics. I've never baked a turkey. I rarely make roast. And ham is more of an addition to soups or stews. (I make lots of exotic stews and curries.) I love vegetarian casseroles and meatless meatballs. I love things that require a lot of chopping and make the kitchen smell of summer gardens and crackle with hot olive oil.
So, now I wonder, what smells will my children remember? What things will they taste and say, "This is really good, but my mom made it sooooo much better." What dishes will they crave when they've moved out, and I'll offer them the recipe, but they'll refuse it and say, "I'll just come home so you can make it for me."
Oh, and Mom, you make the best pie. I can't wait for Thanksgiving. I can never make pies as yummy as yours.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
They're just words
I put a lot of stock in words. I choose my words carefully. I collect words so that I will have just the right one when the need arises. So, recently, I have found the increased use of words in the house both exciting and frustrating. In the past few weeks our boys have begun to travel the slippery slope of word play in very different ways.
Beringer has turned the vocabulary corner that is my favorite in the development of language. I love this age of 18 - 30 months when everything is exciting, and words tumble out of their little mouths faster than you can record them. They repeat everything you say with glee and begin to make their thoughts known. Beringer has been spouting new words everyday – one morning cheerily chirping, "Mo-NIIING!" and the next responding to a, "thank you" with "weh-o-cum." It's the best.
Urban, on the other hand, is stumbling into a territory I had hoped we would avoid. It's linguistic mud, and I detest it. This is a kid whose vocabulary rivals most 2nd graders I've met (and probably some adults.) All of a sudden, the only words I hear are these aggressive shouts of "You (insert any word)-head!" "BUTT!" "EYEBALLS!" And EVERYTHING is "DUMB!!" In the grand scheme of things these words do not seem overtly offensive. Part of it is the tone with which they're uttered. Part of it is the incessant repetition. I'm telling you, even the most patient of parents will snap after a 20 minute chorus of "dumbbutt, dumbhead, butthead, dumb eyeballs in your butthead!"
So, what do we do? We talk. We talk and talk and talk. We talk about how our words shape other peoples' perceptions of us. How the words we choose can show people we are intelligent, sweet and helpful or aggressive, mean and bullying. We ask Urban, "What do the words you're choosing say about you?" (Generally the response we receive is either a growl or a shriek. Which in some ways is appropriate.)
We have started to use cool-off time. Now, whenever he uses aggressive talk – yes, that's what we call it. What else should we call it? It's not like he's swearing. They aren't 'bad' words. – he is sent to his room. We walk him up there and tell him he needs to sit in his room and cool off. He can come out when he is ready to use nice words and talk like the sweet, intelligent boy that he is. Some nights, he spends more time in his room than with us.
So, where is all this coming from? A boy at school. It figures, doesn't it? This is the first time in Urban's life, though likely not the last, that he is being bullied. I have witnessed the aggressive tone and physicality of this other boy. The teachers and I have discussed it. We've talked to the other boy and to Urban. So, what else are we supposed to do?
And on the days that Urban has a hard time at school, he gives us an even harder time at home. He clearly wants attention, but is trying to get it with aggression. Then, when he gets his time out or a reprimand, he is doubly hurt, because he doesn't want more aggression. He wants attention.
So, I have been trying to give him more focused Mommy/Urban time. More hugs. More goofing around. More focused story time. And every time he acts out, I say, "Urban, did you want to get in trouble or did you just want some attention." He will crawl over into my lap and lay his head on my shoulder. I say, "you can always come and cuddle Mama. I will always stop what I'm doing to hug you and listen to you. I always have time for you."
Then it's better for a while. But bad habits are hard to break. They are just too easy. I just hope this one gets out of his system quickly. I'd much rather listen to stories than butt-talk. And, frankly, I am acquiring a chronic word-induced headache.
Beringer has turned the vocabulary corner that is my favorite in the development of language. I love this age of 18 - 30 months when everything is exciting, and words tumble out of their little mouths faster than you can record them. They repeat everything you say with glee and begin to make their thoughts known. Beringer has been spouting new words everyday – one morning cheerily chirping, "Mo-NIIING!" and the next responding to a, "thank you" with "weh-o-cum." It's the best.
Urban, on the other hand, is stumbling into a territory I had hoped we would avoid. It's linguistic mud, and I detest it. This is a kid whose vocabulary rivals most 2nd graders I've met (and probably some adults.) All of a sudden, the only words I hear are these aggressive shouts of "You (insert any word)-head!" "BUTT!" "EYEBALLS!" And EVERYTHING is "DUMB!!" In the grand scheme of things these words do not seem overtly offensive. Part of it is the tone with which they're uttered. Part of it is the incessant repetition. I'm telling you, even the most patient of parents will snap after a 20 minute chorus of "dumbbutt, dumbhead, butthead, dumb eyeballs in your butthead!"
So, what do we do? We talk. We talk and talk and talk. We talk about how our words shape other peoples' perceptions of us. How the words we choose can show people we are intelligent, sweet and helpful or aggressive, mean and bullying. We ask Urban, "What do the words you're choosing say about you?" (Generally the response we receive is either a growl or a shriek. Which in some ways is appropriate.)
We have started to use cool-off time. Now, whenever he uses aggressive talk – yes, that's what we call it. What else should we call it? It's not like he's swearing. They aren't 'bad' words. – he is sent to his room. We walk him up there and tell him he needs to sit in his room and cool off. He can come out when he is ready to use nice words and talk like the sweet, intelligent boy that he is. Some nights, he spends more time in his room than with us.
So, where is all this coming from? A boy at school. It figures, doesn't it? This is the first time in Urban's life, though likely not the last, that he is being bullied. I have witnessed the aggressive tone and physicality of this other boy. The teachers and I have discussed it. We've talked to the other boy and to Urban. So, what else are we supposed to do?
And on the days that Urban has a hard time at school, he gives us an even harder time at home. He clearly wants attention, but is trying to get it with aggression. Then, when he gets his time out or a reprimand, he is doubly hurt, because he doesn't want more aggression. He wants attention.
So, I have been trying to give him more focused Mommy/Urban time. More hugs. More goofing around. More focused story time. And every time he acts out, I say, "Urban, did you want to get in trouble or did you just want some attention." He will crawl over into my lap and lay his head on my shoulder. I say, "you can always come and cuddle Mama. I will always stop what I'm doing to hug you and listen to you. I always have time for you."
Then it's better for a while. But bad habits are hard to break. They are just too easy. I just hope this one gets out of his system quickly. I'd much rather listen to stories than butt-talk. And, frankly, I am acquiring a chronic word-induced headache.
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