Rant about my mother.
Gah. Argh. GRRRR.
I love to cook. It’s one of the things that allows me, as an overachieving, hyperactive woman - to totally unwind. And I’ve been told that I’m not bad. However - I have as yet (despite being married with two children)had the opportunity to cook Christmas dinner, because we spend the season hoiking our offspring between two sets of in-laws.
My mother was lamenting that she had yet to freeze her stuffing, or her cheesecake and it was already November. I counter-lamented with the wish that I might one day be permitted to cook something for the Christmas dinner. Of course I qualified the statement with a desire for her to remain alive, just unable to commandeer the blender. And reminded her how much I enjoy cooking, and that I’m actually not bad.
“yes dear, but that’s not real cooking!”
