I cannot cook with children.
Every time I cook something or bake something, Adelaide and August want to help. And I want them to help. So I let them help.
Because I’m a good mommy.
They will have wonderful memories of cooking with Mom. They will be confident in the kitchen. They will like cooking more than I do.
But then then Adelaide puts her fingers in the quinoa, and Augie grabs three spoons to stir with, and they fight over who is holding the measuring cup and spill flour on the floor, and I lose it.
“No! No! No! Out! Out! Out!” I yell.
“Waaaaaaaaaaaa!” They cry.
Because I’m a bad Mommy.
They will remember how Mom was such a control freak in the kitchen. How I never let them help. They won’t know how to boil water, much less bake a chicken.
How do moms do this?