Help In the Kitchen

It was time to start dinner. I was tired. The Offspring were tired. We were rusty and not quite ready for The Old Grind of going back to school.

The Girl was in the bath. Playing. Chattering. Singing.

The Mr. had yet to arrive home for the evening.

I asked The Boy if he wanted to help make dinner. He's quite natural in the kitchen, but on busy weeknights I often shoo him away. At times he's underfoot and I just want to get things on the table.

This night was different.

We started talking. First about food.

How did you learn to cook, Mom?

Why do you do it that way?

As I chopped the onions, my eyes began to water.

I told him about being a little girl and sitting on my Nene's counter while she chopped onions. They were strong and burned my eyes. They made me cry.

He informed me that he didn't like onions.

Yes you do...you just don't know it yet.

We added them to the skillet and I let him brown the meat.

He asked me if we ever stop learning stuff.

No. Not if you're smart.

He wants to take an art class. He wants to get better.

I think that's fantastic. You have a real talent.

Too often me and The Boy butt heads. We are so very similar.

Strong-willed. Outspoken.

But this night we worked together.

We listened.

We shared.

We learned from each other.

We both agreed that it was the best meal we'd had in ages.