Kitchen Courage
Last night we were busy tidying up the chaos in the kitchen. The girls had been baking, preparing a veritable feast of chocolate coated decadence. My oldest daughter suddenly said: “You know Mom, Kerrin and I have been talking about growing up and about the childhood we had…” (nods of agreement from Kerrin) “… and we want to thank you for being so brave.”
“Aaah, I thought. Here it comes. They realize how tough it was to make the choice to home educate in the face of opposition, and now they are going to thank me for not giving in…” I prepared myself mentally to bask in their praises… “Mmmmn???” I said humbly...
“Yes, thank you for being so brave as to let us loose in the kitchen!” Oh! Mental re-adjustment along with an inner chuckle...
Isn’t it amazing that we see the price paid by the watchman at the boundary, while they see the joy of the living in the pasture?
Why would being let loose in the kitchen matter? We began to reminisce over all those times when they cooked and baked as little girls. Different recipes they had tried, some of which failed dismally, but the food was eaten with every appearance of enjoyment and appreciation anyway. They spoke of the time they had baked a cake and then discovered that there was no icing, and so they tried icing it with flour and water – and they remembered that Craig and I ate it and praised them for their effort, and didn’t seem to notice that the icing tasted strange.
They spoke of the times that we had ‘restaurant evenings’ when they were allowed to prepare whatever they liked, type up a menu (all top secret), and set a beautiful table, and then the rest of us would come to the ‘restaurant’ and be served three or four course meals by them.
They remembered the season in which they had each had a turn, once a week, to prepare a complete meal, and that included the planning stage, during which they would make up their shopping list and go off to the grocery store with me to purchase ingredients. There was a limit on how much the meal could cost, and they had to make sure that their expenditure remained within that budget.
I was warm and quiet inside, remembering too. I remembered the very first time I had ‘let them loose’ in the kitchen. I had just recently given birth to my son, and he was in a rather fractious mood, crying whenever I tried to put him down. I was trying to prepare supper, and it was not working very well at all. In desperation I called Jenni and Kerrin in from their play – they were four and two years old at the time. “I need you to finish making supper, because Jonathan won’t let me put him down.” I told them. Proudly and seriously they took over the task while I sat on a chair in the kitchen, supervising, and nursing my now contented baby. Kerrin made a salad (oh those vulnerable little fingers and that sharp salad knife – yes, they are quite right; I did need courage…) Jenni made cottage pie, step by step, while I gave instructions on how to do it, helping only when it was really necessary. The meal was a great success, and Dad couldn’t believe that they had done it ‘all by themselves’.
What initially looked like disaster had turned out to be opportunity. My son’s needs had been met, and our daughters were beaming with pride. They had made a real contribution. And I had realized just what they were capable of if given the freedom and the support to do so.
I remembered baking sessions in our kitchen, a large batch of dough on the floury round table, and all of us, even the littlest one in her high chair, cutting out cookies or scones with help from Nomalady Solwandle, our wonderful Zhosa housekeeper. Warm times, full of fun and conversation and accomplishment – and a very blind eye to the mess; it could get cleaned up later…
Memories came tumbling in, one upon the heels of another. Times when friends of the children came, and different coloured icing was mixed, and raisins and small sweets put out, and everyone would make funny face designs on plain round biscuits. Pancake making sessions, all the kids in the kitchen, syrup and lemon juice everywhere, and happy faces and hearts as full as the tummies. Birthday parties that included the making of Pizza, from scratch, dough included. Reading practice that happened incidentally, as they followed directions on a recipe. Discussions about a health and the components of a balanced diet, and about how the use of different colour foods would make a meal look attractive. The Christmas turkey, all the children clustered around me as I did the time honoured task of stuffing it, and covering it with a blanket of bacon before it went into the oven. Or the annual baking of the Christmas cake – very much my task, but again, one of those precious family times, everyone tasting and licking and supervising and throwing in extra nuts and cherries when no-one was looking.
I have a poignant memory of a very little girl, face serious and absorbed, making a ‘salad’ which consisted of mint leaves from ‘her’ herb garden, and chopped carrot, and water, and me, equally seriously, serving it along with our dinner.
Then there was the rather awkward situation with a particular daughter who proudly designed her own recipe for ‘no-bake crumble’. And proceeded to make it, at regular intervals. This one was really awful, as it included flour and water, but it didn’t get baked! I did eventually tell her that I didn’t like this recipe, but she and her siblings insisted that it was delicious – and continued making it and eating it to prove it!
And there was the bread, special Challah bread, made most Friday afternoons for the Sabbath meal we would enjoy that night. These were the years of recognizing that our Christian faith was born out of Judaism. Friday afternoons we spoke beginner Hebrew, and baked our bread, and reflected on the history and beauty of our faith. And set the Sabbath table, with Sabbath candles and prepared a special meal, and followed all the traditions in the eating of it. Enriching times indeed.
Yes, kitchens are amazing places. Places of warmth and fellowship and adventure and growth, spiced with just a hint of danger. Places where young people practice responsibility and initiative. Places where wonderful things happen.
Looking back, I realize that yes, I was brave to ‘let them loose in the kitchen’. There was mess and waste and minor accidents. There were times when my heart sank at the sight. But the return on that decision has been so great. Today I have children who cook and bake confidently and with excellence. Whatever else they get up to in this life, I know that they and their families will be well fed! And we will have kitchen memories that will enrich us all for all our days.
“Aaah, I thought. Here it comes. They realize how tough it was to make the choice to home educate in the face of opposition, and now they are going to thank me for not giving in…” I prepared myself mentally to bask in their praises… “Mmmmn???” I said humbly...
“Yes, thank you for being so brave as to let us loose in the kitchen!” Oh! Mental re-adjustment along with an inner chuckle...
Isn’t it amazing that we see the price paid by the watchman at the boundary, while they see the joy of the living in the pasture?
Why would being let loose in the kitchen matter? We began to reminisce over all those times when they cooked and baked as little girls. Different recipes they had tried, some of which failed dismally, but the food was eaten with every appearance of enjoyment and appreciation anyway. They spoke of the time they had baked a cake and then discovered that there was no icing, and so they tried icing it with flour and water – and they remembered that Craig and I ate it and praised them for their effort, and didn’t seem to notice that the icing tasted strange.
They spoke of the times that we had ‘restaurant evenings’ when they were allowed to prepare whatever they liked, type up a menu (all top secret), and set a beautiful table, and then the rest of us would come to the ‘restaurant’ and be served three or four course meals by them.
They remembered the season in which they had each had a turn, once a week, to prepare a complete meal, and that included the planning stage, during which they would make up their shopping list and go off to the grocery store with me to purchase ingredients. There was a limit on how much the meal could cost, and they had to make sure that their expenditure remained within that budget.
I was warm and quiet inside, remembering too. I remembered the very first time I had ‘let them loose’ in the kitchen. I had just recently given birth to my son, and he was in a rather fractious mood, crying whenever I tried to put him down. I was trying to prepare supper, and it was not working very well at all. In desperation I called Jenni and Kerrin in from their play – they were four and two years old at the time. “I need you to finish making supper, because Jonathan won’t let me put him down.” I told them. Proudly and seriously they took over the task while I sat on a chair in the kitchen, supervising, and nursing my now contented baby. Kerrin made a salad (oh those vulnerable little fingers and that sharp salad knife – yes, they are quite right; I did need courage…) Jenni made cottage pie, step by step, while I gave instructions on how to do it, helping only when it was really necessary. The meal was a great success, and Dad couldn’t believe that they had done it ‘all by themselves’.
What initially looked like disaster had turned out to be opportunity. My son’s needs had been met, and our daughters were beaming with pride. They had made a real contribution. And I had realized just what they were capable of if given the freedom and the support to do so.
I remembered baking sessions in our kitchen, a large batch of dough on the floury round table, and all of us, even the littlest one in her high chair, cutting out cookies or scones with help from Nomalady Solwandle, our wonderful Zhosa housekeeper. Warm times, full of fun and conversation and accomplishment – and a very blind eye to the mess; it could get cleaned up later…
Memories came tumbling in, one upon the heels of another. Times when friends of the children came, and different coloured icing was mixed, and raisins and small sweets put out, and everyone would make funny face designs on plain round biscuits. Pancake making sessions, all the kids in the kitchen, syrup and lemon juice everywhere, and happy faces and hearts as full as the tummies. Birthday parties that included the making of Pizza, from scratch, dough included. Reading practice that happened incidentally, as they followed directions on a recipe. Discussions about a health and the components of a balanced diet, and about how the use of different colour foods would make a meal look attractive. The Christmas turkey, all the children clustered around me as I did the time honoured task of stuffing it, and covering it with a blanket of bacon before it went into the oven. Or the annual baking of the Christmas cake – very much my task, but again, one of those precious family times, everyone tasting and licking and supervising and throwing in extra nuts and cherries when no-one was looking.
I have a poignant memory of a very little girl, face serious and absorbed, making a ‘salad’ which consisted of mint leaves from ‘her’ herb garden, and chopped carrot, and water, and me, equally seriously, serving it along with our dinner.
Then there was the rather awkward situation with a particular daughter who proudly designed her own recipe for ‘no-bake crumble’. And proceeded to make it, at regular intervals. This one was really awful, as it included flour and water, but it didn’t get baked! I did eventually tell her that I didn’t like this recipe, but she and her siblings insisted that it was delicious – and continued making it and eating it to prove it!
And there was the bread, special Challah bread, made most Friday afternoons for the Sabbath meal we would enjoy that night. These were the years of recognizing that our Christian faith was born out of Judaism. Friday afternoons we spoke beginner Hebrew, and baked our bread, and reflected on the history and beauty of our faith. And set the Sabbath table, with Sabbath candles and prepared a special meal, and followed all the traditions in the eating of it. Enriching times indeed.
Yes, kitchens are amazing places. Places of warmth and fellowship and adventure and growth, spiced with just a hint of danger. Places where young people practice responsibility and initiative. Places where wonderful things happen.
Looking back, I realize that yes, I was brave to ‘let them loose in the kitchen’. There was mess and waste and minor accidents. There were times when my heart sank at the sight. But the return on that decision has been so great. Today I have children who cook and bake confidently and with excellence. Whatever else they get up to in this life, I know that they and their families will be well fed! And we will have kitchen memories that will enrich us all for all our days.