Some things I just don't do very often.

Sometimes I think the only time I come here is to whine. Then I think: So be it.

It's another one of those mom things. And food things. And life things. This is procrastination. I'm afraid to start because I don't know where it's going and am not sure I have the resources for a wild ride.

I've been married for 12 years. My oldest child is nearing 9yrs old now. Add in the next two and we've got a similar set up to the kind of family unit I grew up in. I'd like to think I've made some improvements.
I tell them I love them everyday.
I've learned how to listen to other people.
The dog sleeps on the couch.
I'm trying to embrace generosity.

I know there are things that I fail in, things I see as problems and am working towards improving but aren't quite there.
I yell too much.
I rush to judge.
I lack consistency.
I'm easily overwhelmed.

One of the biggest changes in my adult life from childhood is my diet. I cook healthier food than we usually ate when I was a kid. Look around, I've written on this before. Food came from a can, and a lot of it was fried. Starches filled the plate. Fresh fruit was a rare portion of my daily intake. Now, I work hard to serve a dinner with one protein, one vegetable, and one fruit. I actively attempt to educate my children about healthy choices. If it weren't for the produce market nearby, I'd be broke funding their fresh fruit or veggie habit. This. This is Good.

These changes mean that much of what I cook as an adult is not the food I ate as a child. Also, I learned to cook after leaving home. I have tons of memories related to eating with my family, but unless is was Christmas cookie season, we didn't help much in the kitchen. Mom did her thing. We ate dinner. I don't even remember who did the dishes, but I bet it was her. My sisters probably know. The point is, I didn't leave home with culinary skills - I learned those on the fly from a Betty Crocker ring bound cookbook.

A few years ago, my sister gave me the new updated version of that cookbook. My copy was pretty battered, with food stains on the pages and the rings no longer closing properly. But the old one still hangs out in the closet. I just wasn't ready to let it go.

How I digress.

One big exception to the "no cooking with Mom" generality: chicken and dumplings. Mom would put the chicken in a pressure cooker. Can you hear it? The chi chi chi chi chi.... woooooooosh.... Then she'd mix up the dough for the dumplings. She made a flat dumpling, dropped in the pot like a big noodle. She'd roll it all out then cut it with a dull knife (ragged edges are better!). Then my sisters and I would take turns dropping the noodles into the pot of boiling broth while Mom turned her hands red stripping the hot meat from bone to throw it all back together. Then - like magic - hot dumplings, chunks of chicken all in your bowl.

We made this today. Stood in the kitchen, I rolled out the dumplings. I watched the kids joyfully dropping them in the pot. Ari said "I've never had these before!" Because in all these (almost) 9 years of her life, 12 years I've been married, (almost) 15 years since Mom died I've only made chicken and dumplings once before. And this time, just like that one time before, I can't actually eat it. The kids say it was great. And it smells so good. But with a bowl in front of me, I have no appetite. There's a stone in the middle of me and no room for dumplings.

I had a salad.

I hate to leave it here. Something else wants to be said but I don't know what. Something that takes the edge of hard, bitter grief. Something that transitions a little towards melancholy, giving you a hint of a romantic heart. Because some days I do have that. It isn't always a stone dragging me down. Sometimes its also a hint of a smile, standing in the kitchen, watching the kids have a good time.