Monday Mom Fails: Cooking

The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but in my case it’s paved with the remnants of burnt pancakes, cookies and sad attempts at anything au gratin.

I am a mom and a wife. I am supposed to enjoy cooking for my family. At least, that’s the unwritten rule, right?  Well, I don’t. I mean, I try. I’ve always had to cook because  I have a household full of dudes who need to be fed. I tend to burn stuff. When I make cookies, the boys look at the bottom first to see if it has “mom’s burnt touch”. For real.

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When my four sons were little, I wasn’t one of those moms who made four different dinners. I made one and you ate it or you didn’t–there’s always cereal for the naysayers. Truth be told, that’s still my food philosophy, especially since they’re all old enough to fend for themselves. I’ve even instituted a weekly “Fend for yourself night” and it’s saved my sanity.

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I have struggled with guilt over this personal weakness for years.  I’m not good at it. Not even a little bit. However, despite my handicap, I try. I torture myself (and my family) and keep trying. I Pinterest stuff all the time. I save recipes and tell myself lies about how I’m going to be so much better at it this time. I’m not. I follow the recipes but it never ever comes out like the pictures on my damn Pinterest boards. My food is usually edible but it isn’t awesome by any stretch of the imagination and much of the time it’s flat-out ugly.

When-youre-so-bad-at-cooking-funny-fails_1I could be the poster-mom for Pinterest food fails. If you’re like me and you want some reassurance that you aren’t the only one who makes a pancake bunny that looks like Satan’s little helper, check out this BuzzFeed article and you’ll feel much better.

There are many of us.

I’ve asked my sons, who are now in high school and college, if they are bummed out their mom isn’t a good cook. To my surprise, they started to list the food I make that they love. “Your Homemade meatballs are awesome and my friends love those too. The peanut chicken and rice, and that burger-crescent-ring-thing. Oh, and the white bread that you make from scratch at Christmastime is the best!”

I was dumbfounded. I thought for sure they’d mention numerous times I’ve filled the kitchen with smoke or burnt the cookies beyond recognition. They didn’t.

So for all of you moms out there who feel less than or somehow not as awesome because you can’t cook or decoupage a desk to look like your kid’s favorite cartoon animal, take heart. When your kids grow up they’ll remember the stuff you did well.

More importantly, they’ll know that you tried. You took care of them. They were fed and they were loved. The meals you crafted may not have been gourmet style or fit for Pinterest–except the FAIL board–but you made it for them and that’s what they’ll remember.

Being loved makes everything better.

 

 

 

 

Giving Thanks for All of It–Even the Damn Sneakers.

I have much to be thankful for and I do my best to never forget it. However, as we go through life’s daily grind, it can be easy to let our gratitude slip between the cracks. Like most people, I can get frustrated but at the end of the day, I’m blessed where it counts. First and foremost, I’m grateful for my family. My husband and four sons are the greatest gift I’ve ever been given. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not all sunshine and roses at our house.

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A layer of dog hair covers most surfaces and no matter how often I vaccum…there’s more. As you can see by Tiberius’ face, he’s not sorry. Cooper, our cocker spaniel, he’s not sorry either. Two dogs equals tumbleweeds of hair but the snuggles they give us makes it all worthwhile.

Not one of my sons or my husband can seem to use a laundry basket for their dirty clothes. Nope. The dirty clothes land on the floor in a trail leading to the laundry basket but not in it.  Every now and then a lone sock will be hanging over the edge but that’s as close as they get.  For some unknown reason, all of the men in my house kick their shoes off into the foyer.  And leave them there. On any given day, you will find a minefield of random shoes in my front hall. Seriously. One day you might see this headline…”Author breaks her neck walking through her front door.”  If you do, it was me and I was done in by the damn shoes. If I had a dollar for every time I tripped over a sneaker…I’d be freakin’ loaded.

Laundry, dirty dishes, dog hair, and shoes aside, I am lucky. When I get really frustrated and want to throw a sneaker through the window, I ask myself how I would feel if they weren’t here to drive me crazy. That simple question puts everything into perspective.

Life is precious and our time here is fleeting. I am grateful for my dog hair covered house full of loud, funny, messy, smart, crazy and loving men.

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Happy Thanksgiving, my friends.