As I went into the pantry for the 15th time in a 5 minute period, I found myself grumbling. And then it hit me: I hate cooking with kids. There it is. I not only said it out loud, but I put it in print (sort of).
As much as I'd like to be the mom of commercials, lovingly helping her kids pour in ingredients and stir them in with a smile, I am not. Nor will I ever be. The reality of cooking with kids? My kids, at least? "Mom, can I taste the sugar?" "Why do I have to wash my hands?" Stirring with too much vigor as the flour goes flying out of the bowl. Licking the countertop when some sugar is spilled, knocking over the vanilla (and of course the cap isn't on, so it makes a huge mess), and so on, and so on.
I like cooking, baking, especially. I think mostly because I like eating. But cooking with kids takes a special kind of patience that I just don't have. I can feel myself getting more and more tense as we add ingredients, I tell myself to calm down and just have fun, but I can tell from both the feeling inside, and my kids facial expressions: this is not really all that fun. It's more fun eating what I've cooked by myself. The kids have more fun playing at the kitchen table while I make something yummy than helping...mostly because I'm not very fun while they're cooking with me.
I guess, at least I've discovered this about myself? Maybe this will get better as the kids get older...after all, cooking with a 3-1/2 year old and a 6 year old is probably enough to make anyone cringe.
Right?
