I've been cooking more.
This is just part of daily life for some... ok, most.
It's a big deal for me.
I have my reasons why I'm not into it.
I also have my reasons why I am trying to be into it now.
I didn't grow up with a home-cooked meal every night.
We ate out.
So, I went to college with no culinary ability whatsoever.
Here's a sampling of the things I ate:
Spaghettios with toast
Cottage cheese with seasoned salt and Ritz crackers
Minute Rice with seasoned salt and green beans (a low point)
Pasta Roni with added frozen vegetables (health kick)
The rest of the time I was writing $3.12 checks to Wendy's.
Then I snagged a fella.
He had no idea that I lacked any sort of skill set in the kitchen.
I remember making egg salad when we were first married.
I was so proud of myself and he came home, gagged, and asked what died in our apartment.
We stuck mostly with quesadillas and peach cobbler after that.
Now I have kids.
The most critical audience ever.
When I make a meal, I feel pretty good about my standing in motherhood.
My kids are alive and I made dinner.
Then they come in and ask what we're having...
"Awwwwww, I don't like (name of dinner here)."
Why go through all that trouble if they're just going to complain?
Bless their little honest hearts.
I can't help it, but it makes me feel kinda crappy.
However, pretty much every time I put the effort into trying something new, I am happy with the result.
So, does that mean I can cook?
I look at some of the things my friends/family make and my initial reaction is, "NO, no you cannot".
But just because I don't roll my own fresh, homemade tortillas, doesn't mean I can't bake some bad-a sweet potato enchiladas.
I'm happy with that.
*photo credit: here