My kids like to cook.  I’ll admit it took a while for me to let them into the kitchen.  Number one, whatever the prep time is for making something, it will go up exponentially per child in the kitchen.  Number two, I’m OCD about how things are done.  Cutting must be precise with perfect edges, and all pieces must be the same shape and size.  Number three, cooking relaxes me, it is fun me time. Kids in the kitchen add a certain amount of stress, especially with the aforementioned OCD.  But I realized that I needed to put on my big girl panties and be a mom.  Being a mom includes teaching your kids valuable lessons like how to cook.  Being a mom also means sacrificing me time, perfection and control.

I am glad I finally let my kids in the kitchen. Number one, once I got over myself and my desire for perfection, having kids in the kitchen is fun.  And guess what, the food tastes just as good when the pieces are different sizes and shapes.  I still try to help the kids do things a bit more perfectly, but I don’t let it drive me crazy and I refrain from taking over for them when it isn’t up to my standards.  Number two, after cooking for around two years now Xavier is fairly proficient and we get stuff done in a decent amount of time.  Number three, I am glad to know that my kids will not be those guys at college that don’t even know how to boil water.  My husband had a couple of roommates with that affliction, and well, it’s pitiful.  Plus, it might be nice someday to have dinner prepared for me by my kids.  I’ll admit, I am picky and generally prefer my cooking to everyone elses.  Not because I think I’m a better cook, I’m just picky and I know what I like and I make things my way.  But, being that my kids have been under my tutelage, they are learing to cook according to my specifications.

Dinner was pizza (I wouldn’t call it that, but the recipe called it pizza and I don’t have a better name), popcorn and ice cream sandwiches made by Xavier, age 9.  He’s even the one who picked the recipe.  I gave him a cookbook and carte blanche to choose whatever he wanted.  I’ll admit, I added a bagged salad and helped with some of the cooking, but he’s nearly to the point I really only have to help translate the recipe.  You know, what exactly does simmer mean?  Can I say that it was extra good eating food that I tought my son to prepare?

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