When I was a child, I loved helping my mom cook. I felt like a big girl. I’d sit on the counter and eat butter out of the tub with a spoon (true story) and felt super important.
When I was a teenager, I begrudgingly helped my mom in the kitchen. I wanted to do other things. I didn’t want to stir things. But when she asked, I did it.
As an adult, I’m so thankful for the lessons I learned.
I remember cooking dinner at my apartment for a friend a few months ago. She thanked me for cooking and apologized for inconveniencing me. I said it was no problem, I cook every night. She looked at me oddly and said, “Really?”
Eating out is expensive, and if you can cook well, why not make dinner at home? My boyfriend and I may occasionally grab some Taco Bueno or sit down for some Golden Dragon Chinese, but a majority of our meals during the week are made in our kitchen, by us.
I’m no Rachel Ray. I can’t cook anything super fancy. I still read recipes of things I’ve made a million times. I call my mom a lot to ask for help. But I’ve learned that I can cook a lot of things people my age can’t, and it’s all thanks to my mom.
So thank you, Mom, for forcing me to peel potatoes, slice chicken and pound together meatloaf. Thank you for bringing stability to my nights, because no matter what was happening, Mom was going to make dinner. Thank you for teaching me a life long skill, even when I didn’t want to learn it.
Thank you for preparing me more for the adult world. I, and my stomach, really appreciate it.
Love you, Kourtney