For years my mom insisted that she had named me JENNIFER, and that my kindergarten teacher had been too lazy and just taught me to spell Jenny, but even in my baby book, in my mother's own hand, I was Jenny. I'm only Jennifer at work or if I get in trouble. Again, that kinda covers a lot of ground....
On with the pictures! I haven't uploaded many lately, so these are from before Christmas. Please note that though our kitchen usually looks like this, we have since cleaned and straightened and done all sorts of things so it's much much better. For now. This is the first time V ever helped me bake. She found a box of cake mix and carried it around with her for three days, thrusting it at me periodically and calling out "Cake!" in a demanding tone. I finally caved in after my grades were turned in.
She's on a barstool here, and soon after these pictures were taken, she realized the benefits of life from this height. Now she climbs up on it regularly, and she especially loves to pepper everything in sight. Cauliflower, milk, dishwater...all peppered. She likes salt, too, but that she mostly uses to pour in her little play cooking pots and then dump on the living room floor.
Thank god for hardwood.
This is a photo I adore. She clearly has both her mother's love of chocolate and graceful eating skills.
One of my goals of parenthood (what? I have parenthood goals??) is that V will know that cooking/cleaning/thinking is not gender specific. But Shaun doesn't cook, so that one will be hardest to prove to her, I imagine. Of course, neither of us clean or think very often, either. In the kitchen realm, though, I mostly hope she won't be like me: when I had my first babysitting job, when I was almost 12, I was supposed to make macaroni and cheese for lunch. I had to call my mom and ask how to boil water. Once she stopped laughing at me, she graciously talked me through it, and I graciously pointed out that if she had just shown me how to do that one time we never would have had to have that ridiculous conversation.
The moral of this story is, V can now bake a cake mix. Soon she'll be bringing me French toast in bed. Merci. Etcetera.
7 comments:
Dear "Jenny"....as you know from talking with our Jennifer, she doesn't enjoy being called Jenny and, you are right only some from her past call her that. I knew early on not to do that. In school there were many Jennifers(it was the most popular girl name for 1971) and often,unfortunately she was the one given the "honor" of being called Jenny. Yikes did we ever hear it each new school year! And of course, there is the "discussion" often between your mom and I; actually a accusation on her part of how I stole the special name she wanted for her daughter, she didn't realize many others in the nation also stole the coveted name. Oh well, thank goodness we are still friends and at this stage of the game are having fun comparing grandchild stories. I love the baking photos of you and V and I remember I was not a very good teacher in that area(not much patience) the girls still learned to overcome my lack and do bake quite well these days. I especially enjoyed the photo of V slurping the spoon, that is my favorite part of baking. I continue to enjoy "Jenny's Blog". Kathy S.
I am glad to read that my mother has admitted that she never did teach us to boil water either. She attempted to teach us to make rice, but this usually ended in an unfortunate brown crust on the bottom of the pan. (We were too distracted watching Little House.) I've improved, but I still leave the cooking up to Scott. Em
My mother's idea of teaching us how to cook consisted of showing us how to open a box of cereal. If you she really wanted to get technical, we were shown hamburger helper. Changed my life, true story.
I don't know you Sam, but I could add to your cooking skills by saying if you want a "hot Meal" just put that bowl of cereal in the microwave....than you will have arrived...bon appitite! I think that is how it is spelled...I boil water better than I spell. Kathy S.
Just wanted you to know that I love your blogg site. I just started my own blogg page but have alot to learn.
My only experience cooking with my mom was when I leaned over and the beaters wound around my braids (I had long hair and alot of it, just like V. Btw, your daughter is gorgeous. Thannks for sharing. Christine F (a Lebanon friend)
For breakfast, give hotdogs a try! Just like sausage and pancakes, really.
...I'm sure I'd feel better if my mom would beat herself up a little for not teaching me to cook either...
There is a story about me calling my mom from college about pancakes, sometimes I hear it on a Wednesday around 9-9:30 if the stars are aligned properly and a certain smell lingers in the kitchen...and I think there's a more disturbing one about toast from some time earlier which may have been mercifully forgotten more or less...but really I think you got everybody on the boiling water thing. Plus, I know you were 12, but...you are a girl...
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