The Boy Loves to Cook

The last couple of months have been a pleasant mixture of racing around like a chicken with my head cut off and sleep. The sleep part usually lasts 6 hours or less. I know it is all worth it but it is becoming increasingly more difficult to find my creative genius when my brain is too busy mulling over "How will I assess my Lunenburg unit...Lasagna for supper tonight...take out the hamburger...Kennedy wants bagels in her lunch....damn I just forgot my lunch kit at school...I have to drive the FARM truck to school?!....tonight I will BBQ for Scott while he fixes the Escape...Happy Birthday Kennedy.........!

But in the middle of all of this frenzy I have learned something more valuable than my future job could EVER be.

Rory and I make good kitchen partners.

He races to the house every night to wrap himself up in my arms and then we have a coyote and roadrunner race to the house from the driveway. Sometimes he lets me be the roadrunner.

He throws all of his barn clothes all over the house and runs to wash his hands. 

"What are we cooking tonight, Mom? Any potatoes to peel?"

And we are off. In the hour that follows I learn much about what makes my little boy so special and what it means to be a Mom to a young man. I try to envision him with me in the kitchen 10, 20 years from now...and somehow I KNOW it will be...even though I am struggling to picture the man he will be 20 years from now. He peels all of the potatoes. I tell him not to cut his finger off. He scoffs at me. Then he cuts his finger. He shrugs it off as nothing. And then there is blood and it HURTS SO BAD AND I NEED A BANDAID RIGHT NOW and then it doesn't hurt anymore. Are there any carrots to peel tonight? And did I know that the Penguins are now his favorite hockey team and that they play on television tonight and that he is going to play in the NHL? Did I know he is going to live with Cohen? "Oh, Like when you go to University you will live with some friends?" No, he is building a house next door to Cohen for him and I and Steve to live in. He might be a gardener and he will keep both Tammy's yard and my yard (which is the same yard of course) looking wonderful. Maybe with some containers. 

And maybe he will marry Chloe. Actually, he will play for the Toronto Maple Leafs and people will yell "ROAR - EEEEE" when he is on the ice.

Actually, he is going to start a restaurant where all of the goody bags for kids have little hockey pucks and sticks in them. The tables will look like ice surfaces. Each seating area will be named after his favorite teams. And would I please play hockey...only to 12 points...when we have supper on.

And maybe we should BBQ tomorrow. Steak is good. Or maybe hot dogs. But let's not put 'stinky' cheese on the broccoli this time.

And Mom. How come hearts stop?

And my own heart skips a beat. It is still there. The pain and the anxiety and the confusion. For all of us. No wonder my creativity is gone. No wonder he is so excited to be cooking with his Mom. 

But we smile and talk. We hug and we laugh. Potato peels are flying all over my kitchen as his bandaided hand tries the OTHER peeler because it was obviously the first peeler's fault that he cut his finger SO BADLY.

And then he decides we need the radio on and he laughs his head off because he is POSITIVE the words to the song had something to do with Potatoes. I am pretty sure he heard wrong but what a coincidence and maybe we could write a potato peeling song. I am pretty sure in this kitchen...we can do anything.

For one hour I was a psychiatrist, a medic, a teacher, a chef, a sport newscaster, a Mom. Tomorrow he wants chicken wraps...