Damn Those Kids! Reverie
Contributor
Being raised in a large Italian family, meant every holiday was large too. And although I grew up in a small, choppy house, it was stuffed with people and mayhem every Thanksgiving. It was loud, it was busy, and it was filled with love and respect for my mother who was the designated holiday Ambassador. This year, my small family took the holiday enroute and brought Thanksgiving, and all of its treasures, to my disabled mother. Her house too is small and choppy. It was not busy nor loud. But the house was filled with love and respect and some profanity! (and you thought that this was going in the heart-warming story direction- NOT). It hit me (while mumbling some obscenities under my breath) that while I grew up learning how to do EVERYTHING, my two daughters know how to do NOTHING and prefer it that way! From the time I was eight, I did it all with the holiday Ambassador. I pulled the neck and gizzards (maybe that's why I'm a vegetarian!) from the depths of the bird, I chopped celery and pulverized cransberries, I made breads and set tables. And then, I even put my hands in hot soapy water with food, yes, food, floating around- and washed those dishes without a dishwasher (child abuse material my kids say!). So yesterday, I, the one arm bandit (read my "All I Want for Christmas is A MIdline I.V." blog) and my disabled mother got everything together while my two daughters watched t.v. Yup, a MaryKate and Ashley movie at that. So this reverie ended up in a new year's resolution: that's it! it's time (at 18 and 19 years old) these liberated women are going to get trained to be domestic Goddesses! It's not that I haven't tried to teach them to learn life skills, I have, and the response is much eye rolling, mumbling and usually, "That's old school." But, in order to live with myself and to complete my job as a mother, those little rebels will learn to dress a bird, to set a table correctly, to wash a pan with years of acquired caked on food.....the whole nine yards....and they'll hate every moment. That's happening this summer when they come home from college with intentions to "hang" and tan. Sorry girls, you will earn your keep this summer; Momma's on a roll. And I'll be able to live with myself and know that I've imparted just one little part of me. That's my fantasy. The reality will most likely be that they'll decide to spend the summer at college (coincidentally), taking classes, and will simply forward that bill to me. Just as long as they don't send me their collected invoices for Chinese take-out! C'est La Vie!

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  • Very good decision. In our age of convenience and expedience, real cooking and thus the connection it brings, suffer. No better way to connect with those we care about than cooking and food and the family table. Teach those girls to cook I say, and those boys too, and don't pay their bills until they pass your cooking test.