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I have always observed from a distance, accepting my role as the "best cleaner upper around" and am always very happy when I somehow found myself in the company of others who love to cook. I don't love it. I don't really even like it. But I am learning.
In my family, the love of cooking has been passed down in the male genes - I have two brothers who usually knock my socks off and I had a dad whose profound pleasure for nurturing his family through what he concocted in the kitchen was evident at every meal. So I feel like I have a bit of an excuse. But now that I am some one's wife and some one's mother, the reality is that someone has to cook and I can't expect my 7 month old to do it.
So I am learning. And tonight is a perfect example. You see tonight I did not cook for myself or my family, I cooked for a friend - a friend who has been a mother for just about 5 days. A friend who was always the one to feed me. And tomorrow, it is my turn to feed her.
And as I was chopping and dicing and mixing, I realized that something has in fact changed. The pre-mom me probably would have stopped at Whole Foods on the way to her house and picked whatever looked the best. Or maybe the pre-mom me would have chosen a few easy to heat up things from the Farmer's Market. But instead, I actually cooked.
It's nothing complicated, really, but its handmade and its full of heart. Because I can't repay this friend for the many times she has taken care of me. And I don't have a magic wand. But a have a messy kitchen, a home that smells of baking gingerbread and a bag full of goodies for a new mama and her babe and that feels really good.
That's really sweet. Nothing like feelings for a good friend to motivate you. I think I like cooking smells, that cozy yummy smell that fills a house, as much as the eating itself. It's one of my favorite memories from growing up--weekend mornings when the smell of my mom's cooking would wake me up.
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